


It Lives Near The Fire Escape

by ukulele_villian



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anachronisms, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Lemony Snicket Style Anachronisms, Spoilers Past Episode 19 (will provide warnings in chapter notes), Technology Is Wonky After The Calamity, Urban Fantasy, Will Add Character Tags As The Appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2019-08-07 11:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16407722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukulele_villian/pseuds/ukulele_villian
Summary: Caleb Widogast's life is changed after encountering a goblin girl living in a box near his apartment & Nott The Brave  has a mission that is sidetracked by a helpless, misanthropic, human wizard.





	1. Chapter 1

It was buttons at first.

 

Caleb was fighting an arcane translation, ink between his nails, and Frumpkin rubbing up against his leg.

His familiar had incessantly meowed for the window to the fire escape. Caleb’s electricity during these months was restricted to aiding his fragile heater--a machine that ran on hopes, dreams, and pleas for compliance. Globules of magical light were thankfully free due to the abundance of phosphorus tubes he kept on hand, but electricity was not.

 

Being an unregistered magic user had its perks.

 

Frumpkin had meowed again for him, begging for Caleb to open the window beside the desk and pushing at the blinds he kept drawn. It didn’t matter that his familiar was a being of pure magic, a creature made of the fabric of existence and dimension; the fire escape and alley outside Caleb’s window was a cat’s paradise of rats and high places to climb. This was mostly Caleb’s fault by encouraging Frumpkin to act like this: payback for all the times Caleb had ordered Frumpkin to drink milk to keep up illusions.

 

Caleb attempted to ignore his friend’s demands, and paid the price when Frumpkin jumped on the desk; almost knocking ink over five hours of work. He'd snapped his fingers, sent Frumpkin out using his limited magical tether, but his fey friend had mewled at him from the other side of the glass--wanting the ability to choose when and how he came into the house.

 

 _“Na gut, du hast gewonnen, kleiner Rabauke.” What a little pest you are._ Caleb would have been lying if he didn’t think this game was somewhat cute.

 

Caleb had then shoved the window open, cursing when gunk and paint chips covered his hands. The bitter cold pricked at his cheeks and his cat’s smug demeanor made him playfully scoff.

 

He'd shook his hands out, dislodging some of the crud that accumulated on the windowsill, then froze when a glint of something caught his attention. A pearl button, little bigger than a copper piece, lay upon the rail beside the fire escape.

He instinctively looked left and right, he knew literally that no one would be there, but he could never be sure. Caleb reached for it and took a brief solace in staring.

 

He'd held the button while using his other hand to rub it around the creases of his palm, and pocketed it before closing the window.

 

Caleb chose to keep his found jewel on the kitchen counter in an incantation bowl, a heirloom of pottery that had been his mother’s. Something pretty in his failing apartment needed a proper home. The quaint button required further investigation, but spell translation and course work took precedent.

 

It had become a frequent habit of his to push things into corners. What thoughts and memories got packed into the attic weren’t always his choice. The meeting scheduled for next week, the last civil conversation with his father, and remembering to eat were all indiscriminately shoved into the farthest corners of his brain. They occasionally popped up at the worst times.

 

Then came the miniature hourglass.

 

He’d been laying on his bed, a mattress on the floor and drafts of his course syllabus for next semester, alongside a dozen or so books on magics. Caleb had been staring up at the ceiling, losing himself in the water damage stain. If he stared long enough the stain would eat him whole and he wouldn’t need to be himself. It’s why he loved seeing through Frumpkin’s eyes; the ability to leave himself behind.

 

The classroom was the same, there was a crack in the foundation above an exit sign that let him pretend to be a professor who wasn't nervous of giving lectures he’s practiced fifty times.

 

Caleb has to pull himself away from the stain in his ceiling, though. He’s made the mistake of drifting for hours and neglecting the work that is sprawled all around him and his bed. When he turned to refocus, a plastic cylinder was on his windowsill-- an egg timer, or a device you’d use in a board game.

 

And it continued to happen. Buttons, soles of shoes, vials of ink, Monopoly game pieces, red wax from miniature circle cheeses, light-bulbs, a fountain pen, and Caleb’s favorite gift--a copy of a particularly depressing children’s series starring three orphans who can’t get a hold of child protective services (the book was missing its cover and was only held together by the glue at it’s spine). It felt personal, and weird, but not unwanted. It was a puzzle for him. It was a distraction from the monotony, and that was a distraction from everything else.

 

Beauregard didn’t see the same sentimentality.

 

“Please, please, please,” Beau pushed the book cart with one hand and shelved with the other. Caleb corrected three of each five books she shelved; he trailed alongside as her shadow. “Please tell me that you find this Boo Radley shit scary.”

 

“I thought I was Boo Radley.” Caleb still couldn’t describe his odd alliance with Beauregard, a woman a few years younger than him in a similar ‘student by day and intern by night’ situation. She’d been in a class where he was a teacher’s assistant; and the paper trail of childish nicknames pointed at him had led straight back to her as the origin. It happened to Caleb more often than not--nicknames and rumors--an unfortunate side effect of being a strict grader who smelled bad and forgot to eat.

 

He’d marked all of her papers with red corrections of retaliation, and had a distaste for her that mingled with unwanted empathy--he personally knew the signs of a person who wasn't a bully by choice.

 

Beau’s opinion of him changed after he caught her crying in a corner of the library, he’d sat there with her in silence, not touching or cooing with sympathy. He’d stayed next to her and then left when she did. Caleb and Beau never mentioned it again, but Beau’s papers received higher marks and Caleb heard less Rain Man jokes.

 

And then came Beau’s horrifyingly accurate perception of Caleb’s paper purchasing habits, and then she linked it back to his lucrative and illegal hobby of spell translation hoarding during war time.He’d underestimated her uncanny ability to pry, but never act.

 

She had her own secretive background too, and the two maintained their shaky relationship (alliance ?) with only minor explosive arguments. It wasn’t soft, and they certainly weren’t ‘friends’, but it worked.

 

“And you’re sure someone hasn’t heard a little too much about your _tutoring_?” Beau’s unsubtle tone was met with Caleb giving her a blank look. He regretted everyday not being more careful with his business around her.

 

Caleb deflected, “But he left trinkets in a tree knot hole. Boo Radley would never be brave enough to come into the city and even if he did he could never know how to climb a fire escape, or manage the weather.” Caleb sighed, fixing another misplaced book. Beau was fast and Caleb was precise. Together their work equaled the value of one normal human shelving.

 

“It’s cute that you think I actually read that book.”

 

“Did you at least watch the movie ?” Cinemas and Nickelodeons popped up on every street corner in the wake of the colder weather and the war. His students raved weekly about their favorite stories ranging from the obscene burlesque of _The Ruby of the Sea_ to the, now banned, showings of  _Complacency of the Learned_. Caleb could tell from her shrug that she hadn’t bothered to attempt the movies. Beauregard Lionett had a great many skills: yelling at people on the street, getting Caleb’s landlord to extend the rent, and turning the other direction as she caught on to his very illegal hobby. But sitting still with a book or movie wasn’t part of her ‘monk rocker’ routine. Caleb himself had wanted to try the films, but money and budgeting just didn't factor that luxury into his life. 

 

“You still put up your alarm string ?”

 

“Ja, of course.” Caleb withheld correcting her, it was _ethereal, silver thread_ and not just _alarm string_.

 

“ _Ja, ja_ ,” Beau parroted back in jest. “You have a crazy ex you’re not telling me about ? They trailing the house that you won't let me come see ?”

 

He rubbed his barren ring finger, imagining that he could still feel the callus.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Nott grappled against if what she was doing was creepy. _Yes, watching someone sleep was weird_ , she thought. But, watching someone sleep while on guard duty in the woods wasn’t uncommon; it was helpful. And by that logic she could work around her guilt. _God damn it, she was helpful not creepy !_

 

She’d come here to fulfill a promise, risked her life sneaking into Wildemount’s hub city. It was the Wizard’s fault that he was so damn distracting.

 

The Wizard liked to rest with all of his papers and books at his sides and encircled about him. Nott used to do the same with her collections, but she wasn't sure he was doing it on purpose. He’d wake before the sun had risen, and curse when he’d see the scrolls crushed under his legs.

 

The Wizard, who can make light from nothing, for some reason slept on a lumpy bed on the ground. When she’d first found him this had endeared her--how could someone so powerful be sleeping on the ground ? Sleeping on the ground was for Nott in her current state of life.

 

It was also getting harder to leave her Wizard gifts; the cat kept blowing her cover and asking to be let out while in the middle of her placing a trinket. It would whine at the Wizard, and he’d do as it pleased; another strange feature of him. Nott expected him to yell, or eat it, or punish it for defiance. Surely he had enough power to do that, _he could make light from nothing_. 

Humans and people were supposed to kick creatures that misbehaved. 

The Wizard also seemed to be keeping his blinds drawn more too, he was paranoid animal. Another similarity Nott could draw between the two of them.

The cat had partially been the reason she’d found the magic user; most in the city had to feed their pets so they left bowls of dried food out on fire escapes and patio stoops; these spots were a necessity for Nott’s survival (pet food could be carried around in her pockets and was dense with nutrients). 

She hadn't believed it then, but the lights he made were real. The illusion was fantastical in nature and she'd been drawn to him despote her disbelief. And her fear. 

Nott had almost left the Wizard when she realized his cat didn’t need food, but his oddness and the dumpster for his apartment kept her coming back. What also solidified her decision was when he passed her test, she’d left the pearl button there expecting him to mindlessly pitch it over the side of the fire escape’s rusted railing.

She’d had watched with glee as he ran it over his palm and pocketed the button. _He was just like her._

It was then official, the weird Wizard belonged to her and as time passed she watched him with the diligence of a protector. Nott found she enjoyed watching him be safely tucked into his room, surrounded by stacks of books without shelves and piles of clothes in the corners.

 

A small hope filled her. He could be what she needed. But she didn't dare hope for too much. 

 

Nott has no one to tell about her Wizard who she observed living, occasionally eating, and sometimes crying (the first time she saw it happen she had to sit on her hands under his window and biting her lip. She'd done anything to keep herself from trying to burst into his home to make his face stop twisting).

 

This city was dangerous; it claimed to be better than the woods, but Nott saw no difference.

She spent the other part of her days hopping from free place to free place. The wind and snow forced her to sneak into more indoor ventures. Library to YMCA to Goodwill. There was a desperate restlessness in her, hoping that winter would finally end so she could hide in the outdoors again.

 

When she was done collecting for the day, she hiked back to his apartment complex and waited for him. She’d do her check up, leave a gift, and then sleep behind the alley dumpster in her box. Tonight she had a supermarket gift card, a highly coveted item nabbed from a lady’s long coat pocket. The card apparently could even buy hoarded goods like sugar and flour. Nott had squealed with delight as the crosswalk signal had kept all the humans waiting on one end of the street.

 

Humans were more like goblins and beasts than they’d ever admit: vicious, ambitious, and so stupid. All of them holed up in one cluster at the end of the street checking their gigantic, brick, antenna-phones and only focused on getting to the other side, ripe to be pick pocketed like fruit in an orchard.

 

She’d hurried along back ‘home’. Snow crunched under her moccasins and she wondered if the leather on them would finally dry when Spring arrived.

 

 _You’re not staying here till Spring, idiot !_ Nott hadn’t thought in advance--hadn’t wanted to think of losing the normalcy she’d faked for three months.

 

The fire escape posed no threat for her tonight, the cat wasn’t even there to annoy her. Good thing too, because she was dangerously close to devouring the pest. When she’d make eye contact with it--right before it gloatingly would enter his house to be warm and cuddled--her stomach would roll and clench.

She’d sit on her hands and scream into her blanket with frustration, eating the bratty animal could upset her Wizard and jeopardize the fragile happiness she’d made here. Nott wasn’t willing to let what she _was_ ruin what could _be_.

 

With magic, the possibilities could be endless for her future plans. 

 

As Nott slipped and scrambled up the ladder, rusted metal groaned under her, and she hoped that the ancient structure would hold out for a few more years. The Wizard was smart, Nott knew because she saw him always reading, but he was defenseless and his human ears never suspected a little goblin girl climbing up near the window.

 

She stood on the tips of her clawed toes and peaked in.

 

No light meant no Wizard, and that meant he was off somewhere she could not follow and could not protect. Goblins and Half-ling farmers died all the time, it wasn’t uncommon for someone in the clan to be left behind or picked off, and it wasn't odd for a Periphery Community member to drop dead. It happened and they moved onto the next poor village.

Her mouth tasted funny at the thought of her Wizard never coming back.

 

Nott could picture his thin frame, messy hair, and shy eyes. Contemplating the unfairness of his isolation made Nott want to demand the humans in charge of ‘human-affairs-in-the-buildings-that thievescant- warned-about’  to do their job. It had fallen into her hands to care for him, and she was the first person to admit that she was in no position to be taking care of anyone.

 

No matter how much she liked to and wanted to.

 

She clicked her nails absentmindedly on the windowpane, and fetched the food card for him. He’d come back, he had to. When humans died, other humans noticed.

 

 _Except I’ve never seen him with another human before. I haven’t seen him with_ anyone _before._

 

Nott clicked her tongue and pushed the worry away, she had a saved vial of wine in her box that she’d drink to fully slay the fear tonight.

 

In her worry she almost missed the slip of paper, folded into a little star, and shoved in between the windowsill and closed window. With greedy and curious claws she snatched it up, marveling at the way the paper made a shape from the folds.

 _“Open me.”_ Read the golf ball sized treasure.

“Okay,” Nott responded, uncaring that she was talking to herself. The Wizard did it all the time too. There were days she risked climbing up and resting her ear against the window to hear the strange Common variation he mumbled.

 

 _“Thank you.”_ The note read. It was signed with initials: “ _C.W”_

 

_The Wizard has a name !_

 

She held the paper in her claws, marveling at the moth-like lightness of it. The evidence of appreciation was worth more than anything she’d stolen today.

 

Nott climbed down and crawled into her box home behind the dumpster, turning on the strand of holiday lights (the battery packs to the lights made a nice heater that she puts around her stomach) and bundled up to stare at the drawings she’s decorated the walls with. When she slept among her possessions she knew she was safe. Door knobs, wind chimes, helium balloons, and buckets of pens are a beautiful fabricated wealth.

 

The note doesn’t fit with anything here, making it all the rarer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German translations:
> 
> 1\. Na gut, du hast gewonnen, kleiner Rabauke - All right, you've won, little rascal


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings For This Chapter: Nott has to deal with fantasy racism and implied violence.

Caleb didn’t further worry Beauregard by telling her that he’d opened a line of communication with the interloper. The possibility of Beau hurting whatever, or whomever, it was was likely and he didn’t want her ruining the first exciting thing he’d had in a while.

 

Exciting, but safe.

 

If whatever was haunting him planned to kill or consume his life force, then they weren’t proactive. It did seem to enjoy the ‘thank you’ notes he kept leaving, and still had failed to use them for any dark arcana that he was aware of.

 

The system of communication was simple. He’d leave a note, a simple thanks or greeting, and the gifts came. He pushed his luck on the third round and asked for ink, and he received two vials promptly.  

 

He’d thought to write it a note in Sylvan, but the potential of another fey this deep in the city seemed far fetched. He’d asked Frumpkin for advice, and the coy creature had licked his own paw, offering no solutions. None of the objects left were magical in nature either. The ‘interloper’ (as he had now dubbed them)  remained an enigma.

He still could barely fathom that he’d received _resources._ The desperately needed gift cards made life and rent payments nearly bearable.

 

The curious mystery followed him to work, where he catalogued books with Beau, who arch kicked a few his way and flipped him off when he lightly chastised her (when wasn’t she scoffing at him ?). It stayed while he fixed the dean’s computer, transcribed an audio recording for extra cash, and when he popped into Binder’s Books for his four hour shift; the mystery loomed over his mind like a cloud.

 

The book shop was a solace for him that he disguised as only work. It was also the best place for him to do ‘business’. Over thirty illegal scroll translations had passed through his hands here. The old shopkeeper who lived in an apartment above never asked questions, and his daughter who paid the rent was just as ignorant.

 

It was also Caleb’s last real connection to the world outside his apartment and the university.

 

Snow fell about outside in lite flakes. Holidays would be coming soon, and paper grading, and making up a lie about visiting family that wasn’t there.

 

He contemplated closing up shop early, on account of the snow and the wind outside.

 

A shambled woman entered, the bell at the door announcing her arrival, and broke that dream before it could take effect. She nervously flipped through a best seller’s table before trying to discreetly shuffle to the desk Caleb sat at. There was no one else in the store besides the two of them.

 

She opened her mouth and lied boldly. “Are you the translation wizard ?”

 

“I translate Zemnian works for the university; if that’s what your interested in.” Caleb’s innocent lie had the finesse that her’s did not. The old skills he’d honed of charisma and deception were never too far away.

 

She persisted, “You know what I mean.”

 

He could feel imaginary fingers digging into his neck from behind. The sensation was familiar and had a weight to it that only came from actually experiencing such a thing.

 

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.” He planned to scare her out if necessary. Her mind might not even be that strong, a suggestion spell could send her running.

 

“Please,” she looked to him, and then her eyes darted towards the door. Outside Caleb saw three soldiers milling about.

 

“Are you new to this part of the country ?” Caleb whispered and took count of the dark circles under her eyes--the frizzed strands of hair erupting from her scalp and winter coat fraying. He could have been looking in a mirror. He’d been living in alleyways and sheltering houses for a few months after-

 

_No, don’t go down that rabbit hole._

 

Guards meandered outside and all through the city, taking quarter wherever they pleased. Better they are out there, Caleb thought. They couldn’t do their own dirty work so they’d put a poor woman up to it.

 

If only they knew what he could do with his powers, long ago he believed he could best any of their rudimentary, technological terrors. If they knew who he used to be they’d stop harassing the store, maybe stop tailing him home too.

 

He wondered if the war was even real, or if this was just another excuse for the system to force people to quarter soldiers while they tore open their letters and looked through their phone history.

Caleb had tried to ignore the incessant whispers of conflict--there was a restless energy surrounding the city at night--he no longer was apart of that world, or that fight. He was entrenched in an underbelly profiting off the systems he once swore to dismantle.

 

The guards remained outside, some now smoking.

 

“I don’t know how long you’ve been in the city, but I suggest you learn fast. Any spell scrolls, magic users, or undocumented sylvan creatures need to be passed through the municipal systems at city hall and the registrar's office.” It had been years since he’d given this speech, memorized it as a boy, practiced it. The bureaucratic jargon hadn’t been fully erased in the transition to his new life. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.”

 

The human lady, whoever she was, took on a desperate grimace and reached for something in her coat.

 

Caleb paled, “And I’m not afraid to ask the Crownsguards outside for assistance.” That was another lie. He didn’t want to speak to anyone in a uniform.

 

The chance of her actually needing his help, and not just being a planted civilian, was slim in his mind. It pained Caleb to watch her slink out, pushing past the guards outside.

 

_You’re a terrible person._

 

Caleb ignored the gigantic gothic woman who came in with her tattooed friend tonight. He usually eavesdropped on them, curious how the pair made out in the city. The answer was usually: ‘not great’.

And when they wandered out, he closed up shop with the keys shaking in his hands, ignoring the paranoia when he spotted a lone, city solider still leaning by the door. They liked to come in as of late, search through the back room for any banned books--send  the store into disarray and frighten the customers to release the tension they can’t put out on the front lines.

 

Caleb wished he could swallow his pride and ask Beau to walk him home some nights. It might add normalcy to his cover. Except that would mean telling her where he lives and works outside of school, and ruining his disguise of hiding in plain sight is too important.

 

On cue, a guard began tailing him home.

 

He thumbed at the amulet under his coat and sighed, watching the steam from his breath cloud about on his walk. The winter would be rough this year.

 

\--------------------------------

 

The meat packers were still arguing about what to do with her behind the plastic refrigerator curtain. Their voices mingled with the industrial air conditioner’s drone. She was thankful the old machine’s noise obscured the sounds of her picking the lock to her prison;

if Nott weren’t an inch from shaking out of her skin, she’d want to examine the components. Explore the foreign world of the supermarket kingdom’s back room.

 

Nott _wanted_ to huddle in the back of the pet cage the men had thrown her in, sleep for a few days before making an escape. Instead she was shakily picking at the lock on the dog carrier.

The simple tumbler refused to give up the fight. This could be your last opponent, Nott thought, and muttered a curse against her pessimism.

 

 She’d only wanted to see what the inside of the grocery store looked like. And then she wanted to just shove some of the sardine cans under her sleeve. This shouldn’t have gone so horrifically wrong.

 

The back room of the store was lined high with food and plastic tarps that hung over the doors, keeping the unnatural refrigeration smell clouding her keen senses. The light was low despite the fluorescent bulbs.

 

_It wasn’t that big a deal. The store had hundreds; and you had none. The store had hundreds; and you had none. The store had hundreds; and you had none-_

 

The unscratched itch crawled under her veins, weaving around her panic and fitting beside her claustrophobic rage, like a pair of lovers intertwined to spite her. The dog carrier seemed to shrink with each failed attempt to get free. Her claws grew sweaty against her small copper wire, and her vision was about to blur with frustrated tears.

 

If Nott kept telling herself jokes she could get through this. The sinking terror of being caught and carried wasn’t new.   _This is very common ! This is usual ! He even grabbed you by your neck ! It’s like you’re back in your old stomping grounds ! Humans aren’t too different from goblins ! This is fine !_

The men were still arguing about whether to give her to city crown’s guards or ‘have their own fun with her’.  Nott focused on the lock instead of what they could have meant by that last comment.

 

“....They won’t pay for a goblin.”

 

“Then it doesn’t matter if we bring it dead or alive.”

 

Nott refused to die here. If she died, who would take care of her wizard, ‘C’? She hadn’t learned his full name yet.

 

_I’ll learn his name first. I’ll die later. Name first, death second._

 

When she worked under her clan’s torturer, Nott learned about goblins who latched onto ogres in the wildwood. The goblin and ogre would work in tandem to kill lost travelers who strayed too far from the concrete forest.

 

Had she found her ogre ? A human, wizard ogre ? It didn’t matter, she thought. Her head was running in circles to avoid hysterics.

 

And besides her wizard, she still had a promise to keep before dying…..

 

The lock shifted loose and hit the ground, spilling out of Nott’s hands faster than water. The clang it made echoed through the entire back room.

 

There was a beat of silence, and she ran. The satisfying sound of the dog carrier’s door being flung back propelled Nott faster than she’d run in months. Two sets of heavy footsteps echoed behind her down the maze of canned, dried foods. Nott balled her small fists so they could focus on aiding her escape, and not hindering it with a greedy need to grab at the colors and foods surrounding her.  The entire establishment was proving to be a maze of danger and temptation.

 

Her luck was abnormally good that night, because she spotted a loading dock exit and bolted for freedom. The bitter air and snow smelled amazing compared to the artificial refrigerator stench that had hung on her.

 

The alleyways all looked the same, providing a shadow she could run into. Humans and their terrible eyesight were a great combo when paired with city dumpsters and narrows lanes.

 

Nott ran and ran and ran till the snow dampened her shoes and quick breaths hurt the sides of her stomach. She rubbed her arms, trying to stop shaking. There was no way to judge what made her quiver more; the cold or her escape.

A swig from her flask dulled the trembling, and each sip became more assured. Liquid courage could soothe away the men and their taunts. A hiccup erupted  and a giggled followed when Nott lost count of how many sips she was taking.

 

Nott hoped the men were somewhere far away and freezing like she was. She leaned on an alley dumpster and slid to a sitting position, pulling out the only can of sardines she managed to escape with. The pop the can made upon opening was an important part of the ritual. Nott licked it clean and relished the metallic taste against salty.

 

After a can was eaten, there’s the pang of desire for more. Her traitorous stomach demanded another, and despite having the coin in her purse, Nott can’t bring herself to risk a gas station after her run in at the grocery store. She’d rather lay down and sleep till she’s dead.

 

She’ll let her bravery recharge another day, the rest is saved for tonight’s gift placing. She has five gold pieces for ‘C’ that she must deliver.

 

_If only I knew where I was._

 

Her breath came out in puffs she could see in the air.

 

Nott sipped on her flask, failing to pace herself and stop the warm numb that blanketed her thoughts. The street was in full view to her from her resting spot, and she pretended she was watching one of the image shows they have in dark rooms. Not a theatre for plays, but the image reels that were recently invented. She’d gotten good at sneaking through the exits and into the dark, warm story rooms. One day the Wizard will take me to meet the lady who invented those moving pictures; Nott thought and laughed at her own childish, drunken daydream.

 

Snow fell harder, and Nott’s eyelids began to droop. The weather was a soothing montage; almost as nice as the picture show.

 

Her drunken dreams were being kind to her tonight; they showed her the Wizard stumbling forward quickly in her line of view. His foot prints dotted the snow and disturbed the white sheets.

 

She shook herself awake, woozy but able to parse that her imagination wasn’t creative enough to fabricate him so vividly.

 

Nott could see the crownsguard following at a distance too, ‘C’ seemed weakish and slow in comparison to the obvious watcher behind him. Agitation was her second response; her human should have been home safe by now.

 

He was smart, but not adept to handle the world, Nott thought. He looked like a fawn separated from its herd.

Invisible goblin jeers filled her ears, there were too many terrible jokes about fawns in the line of fire of a crossbow.

 

She’d been hungrier back then. Nott The Brave had only cried for the baby deer after she’d eaten it. The realization of her shared similarities with the ingested doe eyed, knobby kneed creature had to be ignored while she lived in the woods.

 

Nott had come here to no longer hide, to keep her promise to Yeza, and she was failing at both those goals. And she was failing at protecting her human !

 

 _Well shit. Time to save a fawn._ The alcohol stirred up every scrap of bravery left in her, like shaking up a jar of potions with pulp and grime that had settled at the bottom.

 

The transition between shattering a glass bottle in the alley, screaming, and then running, blurred into a soup of bad choices. Nott believed she heard yells, more footsteps, and for the second time that night someone grabbed her from behind.


	3. Chapter 3

The sweet safety of Caleb’s anonymous apartment welcomed him with open arms.

 

Caleb threw himself face first on his couch; his snow clothes were leaving wet stains all over the threadbare cushions and he couldn’t be bothered to move.

He’d tried to shake the guard off his trail for three hours, but the bastard had been persistent. And as their cat and mouse game progressed, Caleb jumped between being more fearful of the potential that the guard had been tipped off about him; or worried that the guy wanted to extort him for quick coin.

 

As they’d walked though, he was sure the man was only in it to rob him. Crownsguards could take whatever they want. But of course Caleb may not have the right amount, leading to the Crownsguard asking questions that Caleb couldn’t lie or charm his way out of.

 

The goal above all else was to keep them from finding his apartment. His apartment and him were enigma’s in the mess of city records. The university had an address for him (sorta). If they looked a little closer at their paper records (Allfield University was somewhat of a shit show) than they’d know it was a P.O Box he claimed as his residence.

 

Caleb had almost given up, turned around and let the guard take whatever money he had on hand, and hopefully only letting himself be rough housed till the guard was bored.

 

He’d been weighed down by a strong guilt over the lady in the bookshop, and had thought that letting his guilt pull him into a fate with a soldier who’d beat him in an alleyway didn’t seem too unfair.

 

He wanted to bitterly laugh as he had trudged on; his father used to tell him that if he was ever in trouble to go to a soldier or Crownsguard for help.

But, _something_ else had saved him. The noise and the scream from the alleyway was too good to be luck. The guard has cursed and run towards the scream, taking one last look at Caleb before they both darted in opposite directions.

 

He summoned Frumpkin to his side and tried to sink into a daydream of nothing. If he laid still he could become a whole sensation of pins and needles, petting a cat, sinking into his couch.

 

He was drifting into sleep when a ringing broke the haze between wakefulness and slumber

 

Caleb’s house phone was obnoxious and he cursed the school for requiring him to even have one. Who used landlines anymore ? A Message spell through a cleric was faster and harder to track.

 

Caleb’s graceless roll off the couch, and half hearted stumble to the kitchen alcove took more movement than he wanted to expand.

 

“ _Wer kann es jetzt sein!?”_ He yanked the receiver from the wall and wrestled his voice into a polite greeting, “ _Guten Abend ?”_

 

Telemarketers gave up if he spoke to them in non-traditional Common tongues.

 

He sensed the danger too late.

 

“ _Bren_   _? bist du das ?” Are you there ?_ The determined feminine voice over the line drifted towards him, like a toxic spore paralyzing Caleb in place. _“Bren, bist du da ?”_

 

He heard a warbled, choked cry, and it took him a second to realize the sound was coming from himself.

 

 _“Bren, bist du da?”_ She repeated, and he knew that if he didn’t hang up soon she’d cast a spell. They’d never been afraid to play dirty. Could spells work over the phone ? He’d have to research that. He had many things he had to do.

 

The world spun and he felt weightless.

 

The smell of a musty basement was all over him and there were three teenagers huddled together. When things were bad they’d play Mercy, playfully hurting each other like kids do. It made them feel  they had an ounce of control. Their agency had been stripped and they needed each other and their games to keep believing this was all for the better. She’d been so cheeky and would raise the stakes with a Charm spell.

 

Everything had tilted just enough to the side to make Caleb sick.

 

He lowered the receiver from her ear, pained and slowed by purpose. The last words he heard were, _“Ich weiß, dass du da bist…..” She knows I am alive. She knows I am here._

 

Caleb vaguely recognized sitting on the ground in a ball. The floor was chilled, the wooden panels that creaked at night held the heat in the summer and the frost in the winter. He let himself melt into the sensation of fur, his cat rubbing against him. Snow was falling and he watched memorized, his house dark and hued by the street lamp outside.

 

The mechanical thought process kicked in, stringing him forward; a gross marionette or pantomime of a person. The foot moved back towards the phone’s stand, the hand placed the receiver back in its place (he’d let it hang there from its cord while he rocked back and forth), a cat somewhere pawing against his leg.

 

_There’s garbage that needs to be taken out, walk, move, walk, open the door to the alleyway._

 

The porch and stairs lead down to an alley where a series of dumpsters sat against the neighboring buildings brick wall. There is a porch light too, and Caleb counts all of these items to keep his head from circling.

 

 _“Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs, sieben, acht, neu-”_ He mumbled to himself.

 

_Good gods, she’ll come for me if she-_

 

Caleb jumped back, awake and in fright, when his foot connected with something laying on the doorstep, a pile of rags and a pair of big green ears. Caleb startled further backwards when the bundle of ‘unknown thing’ made a pained whimper.

 

 _What am I doing outside ?_ He could recollect there had been a phone call, but the garbage bag in his hand and the walk to the door downstairs escaped him.

 

The bundle of ‘three-foot-tall-animal’ groaned and attempted to roll over. It was wearing a motley get-up of bandages, rags, tote bag sacks, and a white mask for half its face. It was drenched in water too, shaking from the light snow that clung to it’s wet form.

 

Caleb stuck out his foot and gave it a light nudge with his toe. The creature curled in itself further at the sudden contact. It pathetically lifted a hand to shield it’s face from the porch light, and was attempting to now use it’s other hand to push itself up.

 

In the face of this new mystery, Caleb let go of the phone call and the paranoia of the day. All that mattered was the weak person (creature ?)  that he was now leaning over to search for clues. He cast a shadow over it, providing a shield from the light.

The creature sighed in relief at the cruel fluorescent being taken away, but still it tensed as Caleb delicately maneuvered away the tote bag it clutched.

 

_Empty sardine can, plastic reading glasses, tennis ball, a sack of letters, newspaper, knots of string; five gold pieces !_

 

“ _Also, Bist du mein Beschützer ?”_ Caleb untangled some scraps of paper from the tote bag, the ones he’d left on his windowsill for what he had hoped was a fey. Everything was waterlogged, including the small creature. He patted it down some more, coming to a few conclusions: it was certainly a Goblin, she’d been leaving him gifts, and she was dying. He pried open her eyes and saw dull yellow rolled back into the head.

 

The whole picture became clear--he looked to the door, the lock pick jammed into the keyhole, and then back again to the goblin.

 

“ _Du bist weit weg vom Wald…._ ” _Goblins are communal creatures. A bloat of goblins is the term. Why is it alone ?_

 

The day had been stupidly risky. Taking in a goblin would top it off

 

_It’s purely emotional. But, she must be the ‘Interloper’._

 

The goblin made another pained cough and whimper. She realized Caleb was leaning over her and moved to roll away.

If someone else found her, then there would be Crownsguards investigating, news broadcasters discussing the safety of the city from the Wildemount Woods, and there would be _people_ all around his apartment complex. His neighbors would revel in the attention.

 

Caleb involuntarily shuddered. The crowds would come for the goblin, like villagers in ancient days with torches and pitchforks. They’d find him too--the other monster hiding in plain sight. Already Astri- _She_ had found his phone number.

 

She made another groaning noise, and his heart clenched.

 

He scooped up the little beast, her head lolling to the side and resting on his chest. It hurt to think that he would consider leaving the creature out here.

 

_You’re a disgusting person._

 

Caleb hurried up the stairs, not wanting to back out of this impulsive choice made after having a terrible day. The apartment across the hall was unoccupied, but he still bolted the door while shifting the small body in his arms. The goblin was lite enough to carry, but with limbs that swung and knocked at a stack of books by the door. He got it over to the couch and began trying to get it dry with the few towels he owned and a light heat from his palms. The little thing tossed and turned, but was too weak to do much. It occasionally clung to Caleb’s arm as he dried her off.

 

It’s almost sweet, in a homely way, he thought.

 

“I’ll cut you,” the goblin murmured in Common, mixing sounds together while squirming in his arms. “Mhm’ slit yer’ throats.”

 

Or maybe it’s terrifying in a homely way, he realized.

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

She’d been caught again. This time it was by a man crueler than the meat packers. The Crownsguard was relentless and panicked that she was anywhere close to the city. He yanked her over to another soldier on watch by a bridge.

 

They’d yelled at each other about ‘covering this up’, ‘not causing a mess’, and ‘dealing with this animal instead of risking making coin off any more scummy weirdos’.

 

Her Wizard _isn’t_ a weirdo, she’d thought with an indignant growl fueled by liquor.

 

Nott had bitten down on one of the hands holding her. The small victory of the taller man’s scream was encouraging

 

She’d then clawed desperately at the sack they’d thrown her in. Hearing the water and feeling the man hold her over the bridge’s railing caused her to shriek. And when she hit the water, trapped in the burlap, losing her mind; she’d been sure it was the end.

 

Except it wasn’t. She’d lost her switchblade, but a shard of glass can do wonders. Nott struggled underwater, sack clinging to her no matter how much she shredded the scratchy assailant.

 

Nott had kicked to the surface, desperate and uncoordinated. The Crownsguards couldn’t have seen her, and even if they did she almost wouldn’t mind. Imagining their slack jawed faces when a goblin rose from the depths gave her the needed confidence to flap her way to a bank on shore.

 

The rest of the way home was nightmarish. Every vehicle passing by, horse-cart or car, caused her to flinch; the snow fell harder and clung to her hair and face and she still didn’t know where she was.

 

Her mental monologuing wasn’t a comfort. Every inch she moved was filtered with thoughts of what would become of her human, her _boy,_ if she didn’t survive. Her clan never held back on telling her of her immaturity and incompetence. How could she claim to be a caretaker--a parent--if she couldn’t control herself ?

She’d been useless to the clan, and if she were dead then she’d be useless to the Wizard. Nott shook off the terrifying idea.

 

_And Yeza trusted you !_

 

She’d never expected to be happy to see the rundown tenement when she arrived. And if she’d been anything but out of her head, Nott would have stopped and gone right to her box.

 

‘Nott the brave’ and ‘Nott able to quit while she was ahead’ weren’t mutually exclusive concepts. Her clothes needed to be dried, and the battery powered holiday lights in her box weren’t going to be enough tonight.

Her drunken thought process held enough sway over her actions to create belief that  there was a drying machine somewhere in that apartment complex. Sleeping in a circular drying machine didn’t sound too bad either, they smelled of warmth and a chemical softness.

 

The back patio door looked woefully inadequate, the heat from inside could be felt through the door, and she didn’t hear the footsteps coming down the stairs.

 

Nott instead felt the door collide with her face. The pain was the last straw on her consciousness.

 

Blacking out and waking up in an unfamiliar place had only happened once before (she’d been careful to never fall asleep where her clan could easily get at her) and as she opened her bleary eyes, making sure to rub the crust and gunk off of them, the fear was as familiar. There’s a terrific bruise and bump at her temple that caused a wince each time she poked it. The spots in her memory meant she’ll have to do detective work, and gods is she bad at that.

 

Her gloves were gone, and the only piece of her original clothing she had on was the potato sack she wore under everything else. On top of that, she now wore an over-sized t-shirt that read, ‘Accelerated Readers Initiative’.

 

Nott began to categorize where she was.

She was under a heap of blankets: unfamiliar. The shallow morning light hurt her eyes: familiar. Her head had been propped up with a pillow and she was on a springy stained couch: unexpected and comforting.

 

Her throat clicked and Nott groaned at her sore limbs, her nose also had a pained tightness that could be felt around her cheeks. She’d been walking through the snow last night, soaking with river water, and here was the result. 

 

Nott twisted around, careful not to dislodge herself from the soft pile, to look at the room. Copious amounts of stacked books, laundry, half vials of colorful potions, and unopened cardboard boxes made the apartment feel like a window display she saw of a miniature city. The fake town of junk has a specific walking path leading to a kitchen alcove.

 

It was not surprising that she could see an array of dirty dishes, food dried to the plates and forks, sitting in the sink.

 

She felt a sense of ease at the mess; if her box was bigger than it would look similar to the room.

 

Some shuffled movement around the corner caught her attention, she might be in the living room area of the home she’s in.

Nott feigned sleep, tossing her head back with a few extra raspy breaths to make it convincing, and waited for the right moment to strike, shaking and without a plan.

 

The person shuffled into the room, smelling human and herbal. It was an awkward combo because city stench (people, gasoline, garbage) was there too, but herbal was unique. Herbal meant-

 

The back of a quivering, bandaged hand rested against her forehead, and she flinched involuntarily. The hand withdrew quickly, realizing that it had been duped by Nott’s routine.

 

“Uh- _Hallo_ ?”

 

Nott recognized the voice, but instead of being relieved she panicked and quickly opened her eyes. Instinctively she pulled one of the blankets up to cover half her face. The night before came back to her too quickly, knocking her emotionally in the same way the door of the patio had knocked her unconscious.

 

This was a nightmare.

 

He--the Wizard she knew as ‘C’--stood before her, concerned  and uncertain. He drew his lips inward, biting the inside of his cheek, and his forehead creased with worry. He appeared to be trying to decide what he could say to make her lower the blanket she was using as a shield.

 

Nott noticed how his messy, red hair and creased sweater matched the lines of distress on his youngish face. The image of a crumpled paper ball was the best comparison for her.

 

He can’t be worried _for_ me; he is worried _about_ me, Nott thought, pulling up the blanket to bundle it closer to her face.

 

Nott couldn’t have him see her; she refused to meet the Wizard like this. Nott had wanted to meet him, but she had wanted it to be on her own terms, and not hungover.

She’d wanted to plan in advance the best way to convince him she wasn’t feral, last night she could have been able to do it intoxicated, but sober was out of the question. A look at her teeth, or one glimpse of her claws would have him grabbing a broom to beat her to death with.

 

‘C’ rubbed the back of his neck, he opened his mouth a few times to attempt to speak and looked around guiltily as Nott tried to make herself smaller on the couch.

 

“You must have downed an entire keg before you passed out on the patio…. I was worried you weren’t going to be around much longer.” He tried to spin it like a joke, but Nott furiously blushed. Yeza many months ago used to be the only one able to do that to her; how she coped only became shameful when someone she felt affection for recognized it.

 

“I think maybe some of that was my fault...I opened the door right while you were, uh,” ‘C’ gestured with his hands trying to find a nice way to tell Nott he’d caught her trying to break in. “About to make an entrance…..”

 

Nott again touched at the bruised lump forming on her forehead; last night’s events were not her crowning achievements.

 

The Wizard showed her his hands and began to lean closer to the couch, sitting on her level so not to be standing over her.

Nott and the Wizard sat in silence alongside the claws on Nott’s toes clicking together. He had taken off her shoes too.

 

“Your shoes are on the radiator with your jacket and other clothes, you dried off with your uh dress,” he was trying to be nice and not say ‘sack’ Nott assumed. “But I worried you were going to get hypothermia if they were left on.” he supplied the answer like he could read her mind. Nott attempted to parse the goal behind his thoughtfulness.

“Wait ! I have something for you.” He leapt up, effectively startling her, and went to the kitchen alcove. The Wizard was beginning to seem less afraid of her, and more nervous. That was a plus--she didn’t want him to be frightened.

 

How many months since she’d had a conversation with another living person, she thought. _How many months ago did I lose Yeza ?_

 

Nott’s basis of human culture in the larger settlements came from the pawn shop televisions and the movie reels. Human's outside the walls were too different to be making cultural comparisons. She could see a parallel to the wizard and a bumbling human woman trying to be a good hostess, but then realizing that the cake is on fire or that the children aren’t clean.

 

The Wizard was realizing that he lived in a house with hardly any clean dishes; he rinsed a glass out and filled it with tap water while working around the mess in his kitchen.

 

“I don’t have many guests…..” He returned with water and tablet of aspirin. “I haven’t even asked your name…..To be honest I expected you to be Sylvan.”

 

Nott had no idea how to react in the face of his kindness.

 

“Can you understand me ? I heard you mumbling Common-”

 

There was no point in hiding. Nott gathered her bravery, but her response still came out as, “Why are you being nice to me ?”

 

The Wizard blinked in surprise, “I- What ?”

 

“I mean thank you !” Nott tentatively reached out for the water and medicine. Her hangover was giving her a terrific headache and she couldn’t tell how much he’d seen of her claws. She had to wrap both her hands around the large glass, careful not to spill any on the couch. Water really was a nasty substance.

 

The Wizard watched her gulp the entire class in three swallows.

 

“So, you are the one leaving me supplies on the windowsill, right ?” He took the glass from her and winced when she chewed on the aspirin tablet like hard candy.

 

She bobbed her head up and down, keeping her words to a minimum--less chance to say something that would scare him. He was being gracious and if she spoke she’d shatter the moment, maybe even wake up in an alleyway and realize this wasn’t real.

 

“Well uh, pen pal ? Do you have a name ?”

 

_What the fucks a pen pal ? Quick, make up a name, lie, be clever. Say anything. Anything but Nott The Brave._

 

“I’m Nott…...The Brave” _Shit._

 

“Oh,” The Wizard quickly changed his pitying, pained face to one of interest. “I bet that sounds very nice in Goblin-ish. I’m Caleb--Caleb Widogast. I don’t have a title like you.” Nott couldn’t believe how _nice_ his name sounded. He wasn’t only a Wizard, he was _Caleb_.

 

He held out a hand, and Nott knew from movies that this meant she was supposed to give him a modern offering.

 

“High five !” Nott slapped his hand away and instantly regretted it, noticing that he looked taken aback at her response.

 

“How long have you been in the city ?” He said, gently, like he was realizing who he was speaking with.

 

“Years ! I’ve been here for so many years ! Hundreds of years, in fact,” Caleb narrowed his eyes. He was too smart for her. “Like maybe a month. A month or two. I have tick marks in my house that help me keep track.”  _Two ? Three ? Where had the time and her memory gone ?_

 

“You have a house ?”

 

“Yeah, yeah it’s outside next door.” Nott pointed from the couch at the small window in his living room. Their conversation hadn’t exploded (yet), and she was racing with the need to share everything with him. Her voice felt disused and she missed speaking.

 

A noise outside, truck-like and engine-ish to Nott came on cue. Bringing her to the next point, “I moved into your alleyway. My box is actually a lot like your apartment.”

 

“A box ?”

 

“Yeah, a box,” She wanted to divert the conversation away from her home. For a non-apparent reason Caleb looked uncomfortable when she mentioned it. “Hey, what’s that engine noise ?”

 

Caleb got up to peak out the curtain, “Nothing to be worried about, just a garbage truck. I believe it’s Bulk Trash Day.”

 

Nott felt her stomach flip, her house was behind the dumpster with a collective of other cardboard boxes, “What’s that ?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German translations:  
> 1\. Wer kann es jetzt sein - Who can it be now?  
> 2\. Guten Abend - Good evening  
> 3\. Caleb? bist du das ? - Caleb ? Is that you ?  
> 4\. Ich weiß, dass du da bist…. - I know that you are there ....  
> 5\. Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs, sieben, acht, neu- One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, ni-  
> 6\. Also, Bist du mein Beschützer - So, are you my protector ? (the connotation of the word could also be guardian)  
> 7\. Du bist weit weg vom Wald…. - You are far away from the forest ...


	4. Chapter 4

The little goblin’s ears had turned upward and rigid at the end of Caleb’s explanation of Bulk Trash Day.

 

She’d shoved off the blankets and had taken off running to the door. She’d outpaced him and stood on her tiptoes turning the door handle repeatedly. He’d sprinted over and unlatched it for her; not thinking till she tore past him. It was snowing outside and she wasn’t even wearing socks.

 

Caleb had followed down the stairs and arrived at the patio to find his ‘friend’ (he wasn’t sure yet what to label her) standing dejectedly by the dumpster.

 

“Nott, The Brave,” he’d half whispered half called to her from the patio steps. “You need to come back inside !” Caleb hoped no one had seen her. It was a quiet, early Saturday morning; but anyone could pass by and the first thing they’d see was her gigantic ears. “Nott ! Little _tchotchkala !”_

 

The affectionate term slipped from him, the same one his mother used for their cat at home…..That’s a bad sign, he thought.

 

Caleb hurried over to her, she was still looking for the box that he deduced was in a trash receptacle somewhere far away.

 

“We’re both going to catch death out here,” and not only from the cold, Caleb kept to himself. “Are you listening ?” He leaned down to her level and shook her shoulder. She clutched one red button in cupped palms.  

 

“I hope they at least looked at my box; it was very pretty,” Nott mumbled, acting in a familiar trance and dissociation Caleb knew well.

 

“I’m, hm, sure it was.” They _really_ should be having this conversation indoors, but Nott seemed distraught enough to not consider that her feet were at risk of contracting frostbite, or that at any moment they might hear a scream from a passerby noticing them. “Nott, I’m worried the Crownsguards will-”

 

“You don’t need to worry ! Look !” Nott scrambled away from him and grabbed for a sodden box left behind in the fast clean up that was city maintenance. “I’ll get my stuff from your den and then move in here.”

 

“ _Mein freund,_ you were running a fever when I found you,” Caleb sighed. “I think it’s best if you stay inside for a bit, then we can figure out how best to get you back to your clan-”

 

“N-No I think I’ll just stay here,” Nott interrupted, backing away from him and seeming more frightened than when she awoke. “I don’t want to bother you. Really, I’ll be fine, Caleb.”

 

The misshapen cardboard was melting as she held it up. Caleb felt an intense pity for her, but her new found confidence and independence was confusing and had thrown him a loop.

He’d have to take another route, for her sake, and for his. He knew leaving Nott out here would result in her death and possibly his if she was caught. He’d have to play into her pride, let her feel that she wasn’t imposing.

 

“Nott,” He looked from side to side, making a show of things. “The Crownsguards have been _aggressive_ lately.”

 

“I’m not worried.” Her flippancy caused him to blink back in surprise.

 

“Yes, yes I can see that. It’s just I’m very weak as of late and last night….” He let his sentence trail. Her ears piped up and she let the box drop. “One of them freaked me out, and Frumpkin’s not a ferocious beast. I was hoping you’d stay with me for a bit, to just make sure I don’t do anything stupid…..”

 

“Did they hurt you ?” This girl had known him for a day or so--left him gifts for a few weeks--but she sounded truly concerned for him, as if they’d known each other for years.

 

“No, they didn’t get me this time,” The livid look on her face was enough to make Caleb flinch. “It’s fine. But, it would be better if I had some help.”

 

She seemed to weigh his request while flicking her ears back and forth, “You want me to protect you ?”

 

“In a sense we’d be aiding each other. It would be nice to have a roommate.” Never in a million years would he expect he’d ever say that, let alone to a goblin. He lived alone for a reason; for many reasons that included illegally using magic and needing silence while reading or ritual casting.

 

“I’m somewhat, uh,” Caleb pulled at his skinny arms. “I’m not quick on my feet these days.”

 

Nott clicked her claws together while Caleb fought the urge to run back inside and take back his entire proposition.

 

“I’d be your guardian ?” She perked up.

 

_What an odd creature._

 

“More like for the time being we’re a team. You’re very good at getting me materials and I have a house for you.” He’d found her soaking wet, feverish, alone, and frightened. It wasn’t hard to piece together a narrative of where she’d been.

A horrific similarity in her situation was too easily drawn with his first days free of his captivity and past life.

 

_Why are you doing this ? Fool, stop. What are you doing ? You need to be alone; you must be alone. Astrid has your phone number. First it’s that and then you’re a trip away from Ikithon’s asylum and testing room._

 

“Okay, I’ll be your bodyguard,” Nott smirked with a boasting air and scampered for the door, leaving him dumbfounded and crouched by the dumpster. He was woozy, realizing there were no take backs. “Hurry up, Caleb. Someone might see you out there.”

 

She was teasing him. He almost laughed, _almost._

 

\------------

 

Saturday passed with Caleb feeling like he’d done nothing and everything.

 

At the end of the day Nott had fallen asleep on his couch after they’d eaten a sub-par meal of pasta he’d thrown together. The cook pot had crust and stains still in it, but she’d not minded.

 

Instead Nott had been eager to help with every task, taking to washing tomatoes (that had been purchased with the gift card she’d left him), and chopping basil (also a splurge facilitated by her generosity).

 

Caleb had been hesitant to hand her a knife, remembering what she’d murmured in her sleep the night before. Frumpkin had shot him numerous unamused looks throughout the day. He seemed less than happy to be around Nott, hesitating when Caleb commanded him to rub against her legs and boop her nose.

 

Nott had kept trying to make herself smaller too, standing in the corner of his apartment, wringing her hands together so not to touch anything. She’d even been nervous to stay on his couch.

 

Now Caleb sat on his tattered mattress, thumbing through a botanical and cultural encyclopedia of creatures in the Wildewoods outside of Dwindalian City State jurisdiction. Nott had asked him dozens of questions, not about himself, but about peripheral things. She was curious about Frumpkin; she asked about his favorite foods; and she was enthralled when she caught him setting up his arcane light orbs.

 

She hadn’t explained a single bit of her own identity, shying away as Caleb would start to ask, and then re-directing him with her joy and compliments over his messy house and magic.

Nott was clever, he got that much from her. A terrible liar, but quick on her feet to begin asking him why he was putting leaves in their food conveniently when he began asking her about how she’d ended up on his doorstep.

 

The encyclopedia would have disagreed with Caleb assertion of Nott’s cleverness; in fact it may have had no opinion at all. The segment on Goblins had three pages, six paragraphs of speculation and warnings, and a footnote down right admitting that the case study used for the entry focused on a particularly ruthless clan.

 

Nomadic, cunning, and technologically advanced in war techniques involving improvisation. Also, apparently goblins had a good postal service ?

He felt a spike of shame, unwanted and sudden. His own knowledge of goblins came from folk stories, his mother and father warning him. They’d lived in the Blumenthal Burb, a less protected area of Rexantrum where it was easy for children to wander too far into the woods. He could remember his father telling him of a day where the infantry was attacked by a band of goblins and ogres.

 

He turned the page and was met with an illustration of four goblins, tearing a child from each of his limbs. He shut the book and threw it back into the pile.

 

_Blumenthal is burning, but not from your fire. From them, the creatures outside, the beasts seeking to devour you whole. Devour the empire whole._

 

Caleb quietly locked his bedroom door.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

Nott woke to night in the apartment, nothing too bad for her dark vision, though. The house could have been spooky to an unseasoned hoarder like herself. Maybe if freezing in an alleyway were less scary, then she’d be nervous of the stacks of books towering this way and that.

 

Her nose and face still felt tight, and now a disgusting crust of mucus had solidified around her nostrils. She felt both cold and hot to the touch.

 

_If he wasn't scared of you before, then now he’ll be disgusted._

 

Nott shoved her face into the sweater Caleb had loaned her, it came over her knees and felt like a soft dress. The smell of human overcame the congestion and she sighed happily into the scent. He’d been so kind to her, miraculously kind to her.

 

It made her all the more protective of him; what type of weak, self-destructive, desperate creature saved a goblin ? He’d asked her to stay with him; and even though she could tell part of it was him wanting to get her out of view, the truth was that Caleb could have left her there. Nott had to keep reassuring herself that if he had then she could have survived. The fight would have been brutal, but she could win.

 

Plus, she had her letters to deliver. She’d been wise (for once in her brief life) to not leave Yeza’s packages in her box. A few gods might have been watching over her, because of all the things hurt by her tumble into the river, the letters had come out okay.

 

Nott stared across and out the window, comfortable for the first time in a long time.

 

The sounds of carriages outside and her gaspy breathing made her aware of the many other subtle sounds of the apartment. There was a human moving about down below them, and Caleb’s refrigerator made clunking groans for ice.

 

Her ears directed her to Caleb’s room, she could smell the cat too. She listened, waited, and to her dismay she heard his hiccuping breaths: he was crying.

 

Nott had seen him do this once, from when she spied on him from her perch on the fire escape.

 

She clambered from the couch and started knocking on his door, she’s no longer outside and separated from him.

 

“Caleb,” She gently knocked. “Caleb, are you okay ?”

 

His hiccuping stopped. He could have been lost in a terrible dream, Nott thinks. She refrains from bursting into the room, her self control almost exhausted from not drinking during the entire day.

 

There’s a pregnant pause and then, “Everything is fine.”

 

“Did I give you my cold ?” Nott rapped her knuckles again on his door. “I have booze in my-” _No, you lost your flask in your box._ “I don’t have any liquor, but I can go get you a bottle or two.”

 

No response came.

 

Nott refused to give up on him, “My coat’s still on your radiator. If you let me in I can get dressed, and go out and get you-”

 

Caleb abruptly opened the door, he looked down upon her before sighing and leaning to her level, “Go back to bed; I’m sorry I woke you.” He spoke automatically, his eyes looked far away.

 

“Did you have a bad dream ?”

 

“Let me get your coat for you.” He avoided her question with an ease that showed he’d practiced similar tricks many times before. He moved away from the door and Nott took the opportunity to follow him in. She then took a risky move and plopped onto his bed, sitting on the edge. When he turned and saw her sitting there, he sighed again and sat across from her. “You’re a tricky lady--are you sure you aren’t Sylvan ?”

 

“I’m pretty sure I’m just Goblin,” How she wished she was anything else. “Are you only human ?”

 

They’d talked a bit during the day while Caleb did his work, and then a bit at dinner. Their conversations had been shallow, never nudging too close to anything each other feared sharing.

 

“I’m as human as they come.” Caleb looked to his cat and as if on command it began weaving around him, before sitting on his lap. Nott wanted to point out that not every human could just fabricate lights with their hands. “I’ve been meaning to ask, how did you learn Common ? Your speech is almost flawless.”

 

Nott twisted the hem of the sweater, “I picked up a lot from a person I knew, and then when I came here I started watching the show windows, or listening to the music boxes.”

 

He clicked his tongue, “Ah, the television sets and radios.”

 

“Yes, there are a lot of them in shops. I just wish they had color or more than four shows.” Nott would stand outside the windows, listening to a man at a desk discuss a conflict she couldn’t understand, the weather, or the gladiator sports. There was only one program that she enjoyed and it was with the bumbling pretty woman married to the singer. “Did you hear when they played that story on the radio and everyone thought it was the end of the world ?”

 

“Yes….That’s why everyone should read the book first.” Caleb smiled at her, forgetting that he had just been fighting a nightmare. “Most of it was propaganda anyway.….Making us fear creatures from another planet to get people hyped about the war.”

 

“That can’t happen right ? We’re on the planet right now.”

 

“There are many planets, actually. Allegedly people have tried going there long ago.” Caleb spoke without hesitating or laughing, leading Nott to believe either he was mad or a genius. “You don’t need to be afraid of exterrestrial invasion, I don’t think. I don’t think they’d want to come here. You and I are here, and they wouldn’t want to run into us.”

 

Nott stuck her tongue out; he was a funny wizard.

 

“Is that what you were having a nightmare about ?” Nott threw out a lure, wondering what a little prying would lead to. “Flying silver discs and super weird monsters ?”

 

“No, not that.”

 

“Was it a dream about being a pregnant lady; cause’ I have that one all the time.” Nott reached for his pillow and put it under her shirt and Caleb chuckled at her pantomime, Nott could check that off her list of accomplishments for the night. She wanted to hear him laugh again, “And then when I get to the hospital everyone starts screaming at me that a goblin ate a guy and they’re all mad, and they keep yelling at me that they'll cut me open-”

 

She stopped her joke; he was looking at her now with such pained intensity, his throat bobbed as he swallowed an invisible weight.

 

Nott wished she still had her flask to take a swig. She took the pillow out from her shirt and sheepishly began holding her claws close to her face, “I’m sorry. That was weird of me.”

Nott kept her eyes trained to the floor.

 

“No, please don’t be sorry,” Her eyes widened at his apology and she immediately looked back up at him.  “That sounds, uh, scary. Your dream was scary to me is all.”

 

“Scarier than yours ?”

 

“Maybe the same amount of scary,” He ran a hand through his hair and beard. He laughed again, but not the amused one he had before. This time it was like it hurt him, “It was just a dream of me at a point in my life that I don’t wish to ever go back to.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“It’s nothing, I promise it’s nothing. How is your fever by the way ?” Caleb lifted the back of his hand to her forehead (she only flinched a little this time) and made another ‘tsk’ noise. “Let me get you some medicine.”

 

“Can I stay with you tonight ?”  She hoped her being around him could stop the nightmares.

 

He paused at the door, about to go into the bathroom next to his room. “S-Sure, I guess for tonight.”

 

Nott fell asleep at the foot of the bed before Caleb returned with a glass of water and more medicine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks for the feedback and response to this fic.
> 
> German translation:  
> tchotchkala - Yiddish term for 'little trinket'


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: First scene has some Trent flashback in it.

 

_Ikithon shoved Caleb’s head forward, the impact of the desk made him see spots through his tears. In the corner of his eye he could make out Astrid to his left and Eudowolf on the other side to his right, they’re each held down by magical force. They’re sitting, but the way they’re forced to lean forward aches._

 

_Caleb’s in the middle of them, and he promised to be their protector. He’d promised they’d all get through this together._

 

_“I’m sorry Soltryce did you three wrong,” Ikithon always apologized for punishing them. For a long time Caleb believed that hurting his students was painful for Ikithon as well. “I wouldn’t have to do this if the academy had taught you discipline.”_

 

_What was he mad about ? What had they done wrong ? Did one of them break a plate ? Had one of them hesitated during their pledge of allegiance to the king ? Were they not being competitive enough ? Were they putting their love for each other above the empire ?_

 

_Caleb squeezed his eyes shut, “It was me, sir. It was me.”_

 

_He had no idea what he was confessing to--but he needed to first get his friends out of the room, then he could shoulder the blame for them-- then he could save them._

 

_Ikithon stopped in front of the desk, took a moment before dismissing Astrid and Eudowolf, and let Caleb sweat bullets as he swept a cruelly delicate hand through Caleb’s hair._

 

_Caleb couldn’t tell if it was better to not see Ikithon, to instead have his face and nose shoved onto a leather and wooden desk, or to be standing upright having to see Ikithon’s disappointed glare._

 

_“Look at me, Caleb,” Ikithon slowed petting him. Of the three he was the only one who Ikithon called by his first name._

_On bad days, when Eudowolf was feeling cruel he’d throw this fact in his face. He’d spit the insult ‘Ikithon’s favorite’ with a tinge of envy and disgust that barbed and stung all three of them._

_Was the attention worth it ? Was being his master’s pet worth the extra lessons, the lack of sleep, and the added pressure ?_

 

_Caleb slowly lifted his head from the desk, careful not to rise too quickly when the magic holding him faded._

 

_“I know it wasn’t you.”_

 

 _Panic had Caleb stuttering and forgetting his training, “S-Sir, I am responsible. Ich werde bestraft_. _”_

 

_“You will speak in Common or you will not speak at all.”_

 

_“Of course, sir.” Caleb looked down and back up again. Astrid and him still whispered to each other in their home’s tongue. It’s one of the few things left that belongs to them, but they don’t know that yet._

 

_“Why ?” Ikithon could dissect him with a look that mimicked what Caleb imagined a scalpel felt like to a toad. “Why put your neck on the line ?”_

 

_“I’m sorry-”_

 

_“I didn’t ask for your apologies. I asked you why you’d place yourself as sacrifice for a duo who wouldn’t care if you vanished tomorrow.”_

 

_Caleb bit his lip till he tasted blood. He knew Astrid and Eudowolf hadn’t looked back when fleeing Ikithon’s office. One of them had been guilty, and they’d gladly let him shoulder their blame. Caleb was stronger and wiser, but the maturity needed to be a sacrificial lamb hadn’t yet reached him. His father had told him to be the mature one; left him with the parting words to be good and to protect Astrid and Eudowolf. Do everything to keep them safe, because only you know what’s best._

_He doesn’t know what's best. He’s been fighting to play along with these 'adult' games the entire time._

_Ikithon continued, but now while he spoke he had taken Caleb’s hand and began to, not necessarily hold, but squeeze it. “People are fallible, Caleb. They are self serving, and for that reason they love a sentimental fool.”_

_He smiled at Caleb; it was a contradictory face. There was an air of gentleness that only increased the sensation of dread. “I know why you did it. You did it for the same reason you took in that little, goblin beast. Deep down you know you deserve to be punished. I’ve put so much effort and patience into you, Caleb. What am I to do ?”_

 

_“I- I don’t know, sir.” The best punishment was the lash and the worst the basement._

 

_The room is shaking, crumbling foundations shift and they’re on the stairwell down to the dusty tomb below the Cabin. Orderlies in white grab for his arms. Ikithon gave him a shove down the stairs and-_

 

Caleb woke up to his Familiar laying across his face, orange cat hair in his eyes, and his breath coming out in condensed clouds. The early morning light was pushing up over the horizon and past the break in his blackout curtains.

He pushed his Familiar off and stared across at the treacherous radiator that now had a puddle of liquid under it, dripping every so often.

 

_Hurensohn ! Every winter it does this !_

Frumpkin meowed and pushed at his face, projecting a single, clear emotion at him: _cold._

 

“I know, I know,” Caleb began to sit up, but stopped when a pathetic ball of Goblin whimpered from his side. She’d made her way from his feet to his thigh. “Oh, oh dear.”

Nott, The Brave didn’t fit her namesake, and instead looked more like the cruel pun of her title; a sheen of sweat and a flushed darker green tint had taken over her face. She was curled into a fetal ball against his leg and burrowed further against him when he motioned to sit up. The sweaters and shirts he loaned her were dress like on her three foot frame. Caleb smiled fondly remembering the large pieces of clothing that his mother had sewed for him. She claimed he’d grow into it, or that it would be a nice sleep shirt.

Nott’s ears flipped back and forth while she dreamed. A hint of light escaped through his blinds and illuminated the dust circulating the room and dancing about him and Nott. 

He’d been stupid enough to open the door for her last night, and then after she’d told him about her nightmare of hospitals (of course it was a hospital; of course it was one of the few places that could rouse empathy in him) his resolve to keep her at an arm's length shattered. He’d felt lunacy overtake him after agreeing to let her stay in his room.

 

 _You’ve done it now. What are you going to do when she leaves ?_  

Caleb had laid down last night, stiff and waiting for the moment that she’d kill him after what he’d read about Goblin clans. Instead, she’d remained sleeping at his feet. She’d curled up in on herself, unsettled with her chest moving up and down at a pace that made Caleb think she’d been racing in her dreams.

He’d only had two episodes throughout the rest of his sleep. His average was six to twelve on most nights.

Ikithon had sharpened him, refined him, cleaned out the soft spots and left a logical outlook to life that included the nerve to kill--and yet Nott’s presence in his house was providing evidence for the theory that Ikithon may have missed some of what he sought to obliterate.

 

It was a wonder that Caleb’s sentimentality hadn’t killed him yet.

 

Caleb let his hand hover by her, slowly lowering his palm to sweep off the long strands of black and green shimmery hair that stuck to her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open and he quickly retracted his gentle gesture.

 

“Are we outside ?” Nott lifted her head and blinked at him through the sleep crust stuck to her eyelashes, her lilting accent suffered under a scratchy affect that Caleb guessed was from a sore throat.

She looked back and forth and remembered where she was, before turning her attention to his radiator that began to make a squealing hum. “Do you have any pliers ?”

 

Caleb rolled his eyes, she couldn’t seriously believe that she’d know how to fix it.

 

“I don’t think you’re in any condition to be using my tools when you’re running a fever.” He’d forgotten he had a rudimentary box of fixers till now, when things broke he had the habit of letting them fester and ignoring them till they became a serious problem.

 

She hacked a wet cough out before continuing to eagerly look at the radiator, “It’s all coils and coils; I’ve fixed tons of doodads like it.”

 

Caleb doubted it, “ _Liebling,_ that radiator is real shit. I’m surprised it hasn’t exploded on me; I’ll call the landlord.” Caleb internally cursed, another affectionate term had escaped him. “The landlord will be here in a few months and can deal with it-”

 

“We don’t need a nobility, we need a wrench and some coolant.” Nott scuttled over Caleb’s legs, making him drawback. The goblin was touchy to a degree he wasn’t used to.

 

She crouched by the radiator, rolled up the sleeves on the too-big sweater, and ran her hands around and over it, unafraid of burns. “I’m glad I’m here to fix this.”

 

Nott came back over and rested her tiny hands on his elbow, and expectantly waited for the tools that had been alluded to. Her big yellow eyes bore holes into him, silently saying ‘ _Go on, go get me what I asked for and give me everything I’ll ever ask for. Indulge me in this nonsense. You’re a sucker._   _You’re too soft. You’re too gentle. You’re too selfish to be good, and too stupid to be cruel._ ’

 

He had given in, dug out the rusted, vaguely red box that he’d been told was under the sink. He’d never checked to see if the landlord was lying, but for once the old ass hadn’t mislead Caleb about what the apartment came with.

 

Frumpkin tried tripping him on the way back to give her the box. He theorized that his Familiar deep down was a personification of the emotions he ignored.

 

Now, Caleb’s new ‘roommate’ was getting one of his brownie pans to place under the metal contraption. She mumbled about turning down the thermostat and then tightening a series of bolts and levers. It’s strange, watching her jump around, rub her hands, leap back a bit when she gets burned, and throw herself back into the task right after with more determination.

He’d stayed close to watch her, curious and amazed at the speed in which she worked. At one point though, he did come within inches of yanking her to safety when the radiator started screeching.

 

Caleb also tried helping once and was met with a tiny green hand affectionately slapping his reach away; He’d been too shocked to respond and couldn’t help drawing comparisons to an older sister or little mother.

 

“You’ll burn yourself !” Nott had hissed at him. He’d also held his tongue to not snark back at her, feeling the lite touch of his magic poke in his mind. His father used to wrap up Caleb’s hands after a bad burn and call him, _König Lagerfeuer._ “I told you already, I’m versed in human boxes and machines.”

 

This same creature a day ago had been confused by Caleb’s motion to give her a handshake, but the radiator and ‘human boxes’ were easy.

After an hour Nott sat back on her heels and looked up when Caleb walked in with two mugs of warm tea. She yawned and rubbed at her eyes as he came to sit by her and the radiator; it was projecting a warm aura.

For a second he believed he might still be in Ikithon’s asylum. He’s there in their clutches and they’ve induced a dream where a ‘fairy-godmother’ goblin has come to leave him money and fix his broken house.

 

“It needed a little tightening all over.” Nott opened and closed her hands in the universal motion for ‘gimme’ at the mug. He leaned over hesitantly as she comically wrapped both her hands around the drink and swished it back and forth. “Caleb, do you drink booze at all ?”

 

“I promise what I gave you isn’t poisoned.”

 

“Oh, I know that. You wouldn’t do that to me.”

 

Caleb chewed on her words and thought back to how he’d found her, “Are you this trusting with everyone you meet ?” She’d only claimed to have been here for three months.

 

Nott sipped at her mug and refused to make eye contact, “You’re a special case.”

 

“You’re not going around the city helping losers fix their radiators ?” He joked, but she scrunched up her nose in response.

 

“You’re not a loser.” She looked right at him, no longer hiding by looking at the floor or behind the mug he’d given her. “You’re very special.”

 

You’ll learn soon enough that’s a lie, he thought. It took his parents sixteen years to come to that conclusion, and he wondered how long it would take this goblin to realize it too.

 

Nott noticed his lack of response, “You can make lights.”

 

Caleb cleared his throat, “I think you’ve got me pegged for someone I’m not.”

 

“I’ve never seen another human around here do that.”

 

“There’s a reason.” The cities promised that registering for magic culpability was only for record keeping. And right after the ink dries they subtly request that any of children be brought for examinations, and if you have no children you go instead. He could remember the doctors coming to Blumenthal; his parents and the other villagers offering up their kin, not realizing they were sacrificing their children to be made anew. There are posters everywhere, demanding those with magic either be fuel or stay hidden all together. If you’re not exploitable then you’re a threat.

 

Nott puffed her cheeks out, like she wanted to argue further. She instead took the mug of tea and began gulping it hastily; like it’s a tankard of ale. She still had a sickly look to her, but her energy was boundless despite her dripping nose.

 

Caleb poked at the awkward silence, “Thank you for fixing my radiator, to be frank I didn’t expect you’d even know what a radiator is.”

 

Nott lowered the mug, a little of her face was lined with tea, “It’s what a good roommate would do.”

 

The way she said ‘roommate’, as if she’d recently learned and incorporated it into her vocabulary, brought him to his next point. “I’ve mentioned your clan a few times,” Nott froze, her hands even shook. “I imagine they’re missing you--missing the talents you have.”

 

Caleb picked up the signs of Nott calming herself. Ikithon’s voice lingered by his ear, whispering to take note of how she opened and closed her mouth because she’s finding each of her lies unsatisfactory. Her ears also gave away any poker face she’d hope to have, they’re now dropped like unwatered flowers.

 

“I’m sure they’ll send me a message soon.” Nott smiled a forced grin at him. “You don’t need to worry.”

 

“I personally think we should get you back-”

 

“How are you feeling by the way ? Are you cold ? Let me check the radiator.”

 

_She’s terrified._

 

She began to scramble away from Caleb as he set a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, and paused before turning back around to blink her big yellow eyes in confusion.

 

If Beau were here she’d punch Caleb on the shoulder and laugh at how only he could be capable of offending and hurting a goblin girl.

 

_She’s cowered every time you’ve gotten too close._

 

“You don’t have to answer me now--I would prefer you did--but is someone looking for you ?” _Is another person going to come looking for me ?_

 

Nott brought a shaking hand up, looked back and forth at Caleb, before surprising him by resting it atop his own. She appeared near mystified by his non-violent, grounding gesture.

 

`“You must be smart,” Nott tilted her head at the mess of his books; the paper scrolls on the walls, the various symbols and ornaments that bring him comfort--makes him feel powerful after they took half of his life and he foolishly destroyed the rest. “I bet you’ve read lots about Goblins and monsters.”

 

“A little bit,” he admitted. She’d done this yesterday, too. Nott had diverted his probes, but he wasn’t going to let her use that tactic now. “What I have and haven’t read doesn’t matter, _spatz._ ”

 

“It does,” Nott started to pat his hand on her shoulder, like it was a little creature she was attempting to keep calm. “Everything you’ve read about Goblins is true…..”

 

He’d known he’d have to ask her eventually about her origins. It’s unfortunate he has to do it so soon, when she hardly knows him. She lifted her hand away and took the hem of her sweater collar. She then lifted it over half of her face in a mimic of when he’d first met her and she’d used the blanket to cover up her teeth.

 

Nott stammered, “So to answer you; n-no, no one is _looking_ for me...But, everyone is _after_ me.”

 

The pieces slotted into place: her diminutive size, the cowering, the need to be of use. A goblin too gentle to be with a clan, and not human enough to live in the city states.

 

His fate was sealed, the needy and baseless want to protect the goblin had solidified and coalesced with Caleb’s other self destructive choices.  He looked at this small creature and began to see a mirror.

 

“You’re a run away then ?” If he were still in Soltryce’s graces they’d label her the equivalent of a deserter, perhaps even go as far to mark her as a deviant.

 

“Run-away implies someone is coming back to take you home,” Nott said.

 

“Not always,” Caleb stopped himself before he spilled anymore of his own secrets. “Being a run-away comes with, hm, many categories I believe.”

 

Nott shuffled her feet, “I’m sorry.”

 

She had nothing to apologize for, he’d been the one kicking the hornet's nest of the topic.

 

_What do you get out of this ? Nothing. You get nothing from her. Stop this childishness now-_

 

Caleb squeezed her shoulder, “We’ve been apologizing to each other a lot. I’m sorry too.”

 

“I think that’s because we’re not good at this.” Nott kept the sweater pulled over the top of her nose. Caleb lifted a little at hem over her face, non-verbally asking if he could speak to her without the shield up. She gave a small nod after a moments deliberation.

 

“We’ll find a way to make it work.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

She’d enjoyed fixing his radiator. Using her hands, tinkering, and moving felt good despite her pounding headache and the layer of sweat all around her. There was something instinctual about the way the radiator’s tubes and bolts fit together, and if she didn’t know for certain than trial and error could be employed.

 

Despite her foggy head she’d also appreciated how the radiator had swirling silver leaves and sunflowers woven into.

 

_Dwarves in the mountains make the most beautiful iron and copper flasks._

 

Nott could remember being ill only one other time in her life; going to the healer, the disgusted look on the lady goblin’s face, being shoved into a quarantine box, the hunger pains, begging to be let out, and rubbing the back of her hand over her face to pretend someone was petting her. She’d then realized she wasn’t only physically sick; a goblin shouldn’t want so much touch. You touched to scratch, to break, to grab, and to make someone bleed. You did not pet, and you did not softly hold.

 

_I won’t burden him, I won’t burden anyone. I’m not a burden._

 

There was also the satisfaction for Nott proving she was capable. To already be needed and helping her boy gave her an energy to ignore her minor ailments.

Caleb at first doubted her, she could tell from the way he’d raised his eyebrows and the tone he’d used when he said he’d call the ‘lord’ of the building.

Caleb had then hovered around her while she worked, maintaining a watchful eye to the whole process.

 

She’d fiddled too much with one of the levers, and the radiator had squealed like a kettle. Caleb had rushed over, wrapped his arms around her waist, and nearly yanked her away from the contraption. She realized that it wasn’t so much that he doubted her skill. It was more so that he was _worried_ for her safety.

 

And then her wizard had pushed the painful truth out of her (not all of it but enough to make her queasy). She refused to dwell on the past. Nott knew you had to face it, accept it, and then move on. No one had ever shown her how to do that; not even Yeza. Yet, that still didn’t account for how much it hurt to remember it.

 

But, Caleb said that they were friends and that they’d make it work. Her stay in the City States had an indefinite extension attached to it, and all because of the way he’d looked at her with a mixture of determination and seriousness.

 

“We should make a roommate agreement !” Caleb had shattered the silence that settled after he’d told her they’d ‘make it work’. He’d lifted her up and carried her to the kitchen. Anyone else would have lost their hands before getting near enough to pull that stunt, but her wizard had been kind enough to earn some leniency from her. When he doted or coddled it felt less demeaning, and instead truly genuine.

 

He was nervous, and twitchy, and stupid to being getting this close to her. Surely desperate and alone. The nightmares, and the way he seemed to be drawn into himself said as much. Nott recognized the shadow over his eyes, like the halflings caught in a village raid. The ones trying to find contentment in a shit situation.

 

“I can cook, I have lights covered, rent is paid for the next two months, thirteen hours, _und zwölf Minuten_ ….” He mumbled while jotting down notes and plans for the next week. He wasn’t using the quill or parchment she’d seen at his desk from the window, but instead a basic pen and yellow notepad. Nott couldn’t help swinging her legs back and forth off the side of the counter top he’d sat her atop. His cat, Frumpkin, scrunched his nose at Nott from below and ran off.

 

It was strange that Caleb didn’t mind her dirty feet on his white, tiled counter. When she began to mention that to him he’d waved his hand and pointed around at the colony of tin boxes and cookie containers (that smelled like anything but cookies) that already cluttered the counter long before Nott arrived.

 

He was in his world, and didn’t notice her begin to absentmindedly open some of the cookie tins. Each had a different collection of funny objects: bird feathers, colored sand, moldy pastry, honey-combs, string, wood, cured leather, broken thermometers with the mercury spilling out (she closed it with a tiny shriek upon recognizing the chemical), and a cigarette container with a single pearl earring.

 

Yeza had told Nott about his laboratory, and admittedly she’d imagined it would look something like Caleb’s apartment.

 

“The pearl is for a very special spell of mine,” Caleb was looking up from his work, she yelped and shoved the case back alongside the rest, she realized he’d stopped writing to stare at her going through his collections. “It fell off a customer in the store I work at.”

 

“Is that what this is all for ? Magic ? Your lights ?” If all it took to being a wizard was hoarding, then she was surprised she and a few human’s she’d robbed hadn’t started producing light orbs on accident.

 

Caleb set the pen down, she could tell he was ‘going away’ from how he looked at the counter and spoke. He had a non-existent mask that he pulled around him like a blanket. It made Nott feel like he was in a fog and she was stuck on the outside on the fire escape looking into his house.

 

“The components are one step in the connection, but there’s more. All people have the arcane spark, but not everyone has the will to manipulate it.”

 

“You have that ?” She’d thought Yeza was magical when she met him, but he’d said magic was dead. Chemistry and alchemy were the last remnants of it either practiced by the elite in the City States or illegally in the Periphery Villages and Colonies. He couldn’t have been lying, she thought.

 

“Yes, I am that.” He sounded ‘wrong’ to her ears, like he was ashamed as he recited facts. That’s not how a human’s supposed to sound, Nott thought. “I tested with high levels of latent ability and potential for flexible growth.”

 

He’s no longer talking like a living creature, she’s losing him. He rubbed his neck and seemed too lost in thought for her liking. His cat meowed at his feet and turned to look up at Nott as if to say, “ _Look what you did to him !”_

 

_He asked me about my life and I didn’t freeze up...that much !_

 

“Hey, hey, let’s see that agreement,” Nott sat up on her knees and cupped his face; she’d seen the lady on the television do it and wanted to test it for herself. She’d gone home that day and cupped her own face, testing it out to recreate the tight pit of joy in her stomach. It hadn’t worked then, but the act now was shocking enough that Caleb blinked awake from his deep thoughts. She let go of his cheeks and left him red faced and blinking in shock. “You wrote a whole bunch, jeez. Do I sign here ?”

 

“You haven’t read all of it.”

 

Nott ignored him and took the pen from the counter. Her handwriting wasn’t the best, but she knew Common alphabet well enough to sign her name in block letters. She gripped the pen like a spear and signed, ‘ _Nott The Brave’,_ in big, uniform font.

 

“No comma ?” he said.

 

“Nope, no comma.”

 

“Hm,” Caleb tacked the sheet of paper with a plastic, green, ‘w’ letter magnet to his fridge. “Did you know I'm a professor ?”

 

Nott shrugged, “I knew you're a wizard and have a cat.”

 He rubbed the back of his neck, to shrug off the title of wizard. 

“Well, I’m a teaching assistant at a pretty shit community learning center, but my cursive is still decent enough that I imagine you’d be a quick study, and maybe we could add a coma to your name ?”

 

She genuinely liked the sound of that, maybe not the comma part, but making her words look pretty sounded fascinating, “And maybe I could get you a whole set of alphabet letters instead of that plastic ‘w’ on your fridge.”

 

He pointed his index finger at her and opened his mouth about to make a comeback, but stopped and snorted holding back a small laugh.

He fought with himself for a moment before raising a hand to hover by her head, “May I ?”

She nodded and let out a large sigh the second he began petting and parting her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ich werde bestraft - I will be punished 
> 
> Hurensohn - Son of a bitch 
> 
> Liebling - darling
> 
> König Lagerfeuer - King Bonfire
> 
> spatz - affectionate term that translates to 'sparrow' 
> 
> und zwölf Minuten - and twelve minutes


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot catches up to Caleb and Nott. 
> 
> Minor warnings for implied self harm and alcohol withdrawal.

Nott watched from the bedroom door as Caleb hurriedly transformed into a persona that included a satchel, a stack of books balanced in the crook of his arm, and a stained coat with an army of pockets; his clothes were still wrinkled, but now he seemed more layered (as if his scarf and turtleneck were a suite of armor).

He continually picked up his keys, put them down, and then picked up another item while mumbling a series of sounds that she assumed were his ‘not-exactly-Common-but-still-human-language’.

 

It was funny for a second, the way he’d sluggishly rolled out of bed, not paying mind to how Not pulled the blankets around her like a makeshift cave. She hadn’t been feeling well again and he’d let her stay in his room. He’d been slow to wake and sat with his legs crossed on the floor (Nott wondered how she might be able to steal a frame for his bed; he might sleep better if his cot was off the ground), and then he’d gasped.

 

“It’s Monday !” He’d said, beginning to rapidly stand and stumble. Humans were naturally fragile and Caleb illustrated that point to an overly comical degree. He had an air about him that reminded Nott of a chicken who’d barely escaped a slaughterhouse.

 

“How do you keep track of time without scratching days down ?” Nott asked. She’d picked up on his sixth sense for time when she’d been spying on him. His coming home perfectly correlated with certain television programs in the pawn shop.  “Caleb, how do you keep track of-”

 

Caleb raced to the bathroom with a bundle of clothes he’d grabbed form a miscellaneous, plastic, laundry basket. He should seriously fold some of these, she thought. It would be easier to find his way if the pants and shirts were separated. Nott realized there was no way to sort on the basis of color, since Caleb seemed to keep only two shades of brown and red for every article of clothing, making his bedroom into a forest full of autumn piled leaves. An overall very khaki colored wardrobe.

“Caleb,” She followed him out to the kitchen where he was furiously shuffling papers and performing his ritual of picking up his keys, putting them down, and then spinning around to find them again. “Caleb, do you need help ?”

He still didn’t hear her. Nott clenched her fists and looked around at the mess of apartment. Her old box had been cluttered, but she’d had an order and could place her hands on any of her trinkets while blindfolded.

 

Caleb’s house was appearing more and more like an overturned, side-show caravan. Nott padded over to Caleb, dragging along the train of blankets, and squeezed his hand.

 

He blinked a few times, shaking his head back to the present, and looked down confused, “ _Ja_ ?”

 

She was growing fond of his strange accent. There was no limit to the features she found endearing in him, “Are you off to your school today ?”

 

“Oh, yes. _Ja_ , I am. We talked about this.”

 

Caleb and her had laid the ground rules for their partnership as so: He’d go to his school, and Nott (after convincing Caleb) would continue with her ‘work’. Caleb had made a series of non-commital ‘hm’s’ and ‘uhhs’ when she’d told him she wouldn’t quit her pickpocketing. She needed it; her sticky fingers were the only tool she could offer him. Her half-hearted, affectionate gestures (stolen from the rare moments with Yeza and imitated from television) weren’t enough.

 

Caleb kept telling Nott that she didn’t need to leave him anymore gifts, little did he realize the baggage he was getting with her--baggage that could only be balanced out with offerings.

She hadn’t told Caleb yet about Yeza, or the letters, or why she smelled so heavily of alcohol the night he found her, or the time she scratched Frumpkin’s eye out on the fire-escape.

 

Once you have a compulsion, you’ll always be fighting. Or in Nott’s case, giving in.

 

Nott squeezed Caleb’s hand again for reassurance, taking notice how he was analyzing her, so full of a hectic energy that she felt pouring out of his skin.

 

“I promise I won’t steal from you,” Nott said. She was still parsing out the reality that Caleb was letting her stay; the situation was a dense and difficult thing for her to understand and swallow--it wasn’t like she could dig her claws into it as she usually did with her crossbow being jammed, or concocting an acid. “And you don’t need to worry about your cat, or me tryin’ to eat him.”

 

“What if I told you that’s not what I’m scared of ?”

 

Nott shrugged a little, “I’d say then that you’re being too nice; you know you’re talking to a goblin with a terrible itch, right ?”

 

The chaotic energy evaporated and Caleb paused, his face softening too (she loved when he was calm around her--it was strange to see a human look towards her with a gentle curiosity). His voice had a constant low pitch that drew her nearer to him, “If anyone knocks on the door ?”

 

“I hide under the couch.”

 

Caleb nodded and looked to the phone, “If the phone rings ?”

 

“Let it,” Nott was waiting for the right time to ask Caleb if she could take it apart. He projected dismay at the device and might even thank her. “It’s always telemarketers or The Platinum Dragon’s followers asking for a donation.”

 

“And….and if you go out today you promise to take Frumpkin ?”

 

This was a segment of their pact she’d begrudgingly agreed to. She was paranoid of the attention the beast might bring. Nott suspected the cat and her felt the same way on the entire matter. Yet, Caleb had promised that Frumpkin could communicate to him, that him and the cat were, ‘the best of friends.’

 

“I’ll stay in today, just for you because you asked nicely.” She hadn’t slept much last night. Without her flask to ease her to sleep, Nott had started shaking.

 

Caleb rolled his eyes and smiled. “I’m worried about your fever.”

 

“I promise,” She held up three of her claws and made a human-scout sign. “Stick in a needle and hope to die.”

 

“It’s a shame Common is my second language, I have no clue if you said that right.” He gave her a hesitant pat on the head and looked around his house. “If you need anything-”

 

“I won’t,” There was too much of herself to loathe, but she could take pride in her self reliance. Caleb rubbed his face and beard before heading towards the door. “Oh wait, wait before you go !”

 

Nott took out the gold pieces and wrapped newspaper from her tote sack, she probably would never part with the old thing after it had saved most of her remaining possessions from the river. Yeza’s precious letters and research had brought her here, and to lose that on top of everything would have prematurely ended her stay. “Here’s a little money for you, and something to read.” Nott shoved her gifts into his lower trench coat pocket.

 

“Nott, no, that’s your money.” Caleb started to lift the side of his coat to remove Nott’s hands from the pocket.

 

“It’s rent payment.” Nott held tight.

 

“We agreed on you fixing the radiator as the first month and a half.” His skinny hand, wrapped in bandages that he hadn’t taken off even to sleep, and her claws clamoured together. Back and forth the coins and newspaper went from palm to palm.

 

“This is a down payment !” Him leaving had felt okay a minute ago, but now Nott realized what that meant. He wouldn’t be near her; Caleb could die and then she’d have to care for the stupid cat in his memory. ”You need the help !”

 

“No- _Nein-_ Nott,” She wrapped both her hands around his wrist and glared at him, digging her heels into the ground. They stared at each other for a beat before he shut his eyes and said, “Okay, okay, _gut fein, fein._ You’re a determined fiend.”

 

_Yeah, I’m determined to do everything to keep you safe._

 

After he shut the door she watched him, from the living room window, disappear into a small dot that turned down a corner out of sight.

 

Her hands tremored, tapping back and forth on the windowsill.

 

Nott turned back to take a look at his home in totality. Her lightheadedness, all caused by her cold, had started to wane.

 

She could slowly feel herself coming back to her sharp senses, there lay only one issue; she hadn’t had a drink in three days. Caleb hadn’t realized (yet), he’d assumed it had all been fever related.

 

Frumpkin swished his tail, eyeballing her from the couch armrest. The cat was seemingly judging her from the couch for her faults and addictions.

 

Nott scowled at him. “Don’t look at me like that, and I’m not sorry about all the times I thought about eating you.”

 

Caleb talked at his cat without realizing, and in the days she’d been there she was catching the habit too. Nott pushed the wooden countertop stool to the sink using her back, never straying from her stare off with Frumpkin.

 

“Have _you_ ever done his dishes ?” Frumpkin lifted his paw to lick it and side eye her. “You smell too. You don’t eat or piss, but you smell anyway. What the fuck ?”

 

_I’m catching a new flu--it’s called lonely, book boy who-talks-to-cat. It’s contagious and occurs after prolonged exposure to not talking to another living creature and then spending a weekend talking too much._

 

Yeza had repeated that phrase throughout Nott’s alchemical lessons, “ _Prolonged exposure to the concoction will start to-”_

 

_Prolonged exposure to a sad, nerdy halfling will result in a natural gravitational pull to all pathetic creatures on the planet. You’ll be doing their dishes and running from the authorities soon enough._

 

_Not even Goblins are safe._

 

Nott opened up the cabinets above Caleb’s sink. Eight bottles of soap, all with approximately one squeezed (at best) left in them, and a rat greeted her.

 

It could have been the lack of booze, or maybe a remnant of the terrible education her goblin peers had bestowed upon her, but Nott’s mouth watered at the sight of the furry mammal. Its heart acutely beat in time with her’s.

 

The potato sized creature squeaked and belined for a hole in the wall. Nott’s quick hands and instinct grabbed onto the animal, kicking up dust and knocking over accoutrements like a mildew covered sponge.

 

The in-between of her sinking sharp teeth into its neck and the furry animals screech blurred. It screamed and screamed, increasing Nott’s headache, and without pause allowing her to snap its neck in one twist of her wrist.

 

It’s body, half mutilated, made a guttural thunk when it hit the counter. Nott panted with falling adrenaline, shocked how she hadn’t been allowed to make the choice on whether or not she killed it. Her claws tremored.

 

Nott slowly turned to see Frumpkin’s reaction--The cat’s hair was on end, with his ears down to his head.

 

Nott wiped her mouth with her sleeve, “Please don’t tell Caleb.”

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Caleb raced into the classroom, familiar paint peeling off the wall and the exit sign with the flickering ‘e’ greeted him alongside an empty classroom. Caleb brushed snowflakes off his coat and fell into the rolling chair at the front of the podium. It was his day to lecture--he rotated with Iva (one the few here qualified to teach).

 

A few things never change, and knowing Allfield’s Center and Recreational Learning’s would always be in decay provided normalcy in the face of the weekend's events.

 

The five gold pieces felt heavy in Caleb’s coat pocket. Nott’s place in his life became more defined each day.

 

_You let her sleep in your bed and eat your food. She’s carving a hole into your life and you won’t stop her._

 

He’d only accidentally become friends with Beau because she had sharp edges that simultaneously protected him, and reminded him that he was undeserving of softer things— and Frumpkin was the smallest luxury he’d allowed himself for years, but now Nott was here.

 

_Remember, this won’t last._

 

He could only ruminate on that depressing thought for so long, he fumbled with a loose string on his coat sleeve, twisting the thread taut and slack back and forth.

The auditorium remained empty. It was small, thirty person room at best, trying too hard to look like a lecture hall in an authentic university and not a poorly funded public venture.

 

A small, unexpected irritation rested in his gut. They had the usuals who would sneak in fifteen minutes late, that was to be expected.

 

A leak in the ceiling dripped audibly on the floor. It was no secret that people scoffed at his grading, he was a technically a teaching assistant and not fully a professor.

 

You could be home taking care of Nott and working on spell translation, and instead you’re being stood up by thirty people, Caleb thought.

 

Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty, then thirty five.

 

_Bullenscheiße._

 

Beauregard hadn’t even taken time to tell him she’d skip today, let alone that the entire class would do the same. He’d have to ask one of his colleagues down the hall (whose name he hadn’t learned). He moved to the door, feeling a miniature sense of confidence mixed with mild irritation.

 

Caleb should have left sooner, he realized. Right as he moved towards the door, always too late.

 

He always sensed the danger too late.

 

“Hello, Mr.Widogast,” blocking his escape stood a broad shouldered, grey-skinned, tiefling woman dressed too nicely to be gracing the halls of Allfield’s. Her accent was in the same vein as his, Zemni fields and forested hills. It was strange, at the academy they’d called the way he spoke backwater. It was almost awkward hearing his accent on a woman dressed more like an aristocrat going to the opera. “They told me your classroom might be empty.”

 

_That’s not ominous._

 

Her eyes roamed over him, unimpressed, calculating, Her tongue rolled over her lip, and the leaky roof dripped in the background. Her sleeves had buttoned cuffs, intricate lace and weave that made Caleb aware of his own tattered jacket.

 

She also had fangs hanging from her upper lip and she knew his name. Her horns reminded Caleb of the icicles that would hang on the gutters of his house, and she knew his name. His mother warned him about playing under them for fear of him slicing his eye open, and this woman _knew his name_ !

 

_Sie werden dich in Stücke schneiden._

 

Caleb calmed his breathing. Anyone this refined didn’t belong here, her presence screamed out unwantedness. Caleb could hear Beauregard’s voice behind his ear, telling him that his spell translation work was going to kill him.

 

He might not live long enough to see her smug face tell him, ‘I told you so’.

 

“I’m terribly sorry, my office hours are from three to four.” When he’d first taken the job he’d asked Kosh, the gnome man in charge of the learning center, if there were any fire exits in the classrooms. Kosh had laughed at him and asked why Caleb was hunched over when, “….he had extra height on his shoulders to spare.” Caleb had bitten his lip and accepted the situation as is.

 

“If you need a resource on Zemnian literature  the library is open on the third floor,” Caleb said, trying to fill in the silence of the her eyes tracing and calculating him. He kept his voice steady, a tool that made up for his lanky demeanor. The first half of his life, he was trained to flaunt his skills--skills that he told were special. For the second half, he did everything he could to hide, ensure that the world didn’t see anything it wanted to take from him. “Or if you leave your contact information we might be able to schedule a meeting later.”

 

“I’m here to inquire about your translation work.”

 

Caleb held down the nausea, “If you need a novel or excerpt translated I’m going to need forty eight hours of notice.”

 

“Not that work, friend.” The tiefling woman’s eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips as she read him, “You don’t appear busy. You were highly recommended, so this won’t take too long.”

 

He couldn’t think of an eloquent response, he could push her out of the way and make a dash for the door too, “I have a crucial meeting to attend to across town.” He looked over her shoulder towards the exit. She smiled at this, and that's when he felt his heart still.

 

Caleb glanced back at the window. They were on the first floor, he could manage an escape into the hedges. It wouldn’t be the most ludicrous thing he’s attempted.

 

“That’s unfortunate; you’ll be late,” Her arcane words flowed over him. The very familiar feeling of the distortion to his mental outlook surprised him.

 

He hadn’t felt this since his days at the academy.

 

Caleb threw up his hands to counterspell, the words came out mumbled and stammered in his panic. His head was moderately fortified, yet left unprepared from lack of practice. His defenses put up a decent fight, but he couldn’t place his walls up fast enough before the insidiously hamfisted wave of charm rose over him. Caleb’s mind clawed at the gentle tendrils tightening their grip around him.

 

Her magic slotted into a concave that had been dug in his brain long ago. It was a wound made by a mentor, a teacher, a monster and he’d ignored healing it.

 

_Why was I going to run away ?_

 

“She said you’d put up a fight,” The woman turned off the lights and closed the gap between them, and he felt no fear. There was an blanket of foreign calmness smothering his senses. “You still smell of sulphur and smoke under the mask of this wretched necklace,” she reached under his shirt (Caleb shivered) and pulled out the amber amulet to thumb at. She was close enough that he could see the beauty mark above her displeased lip. “Magic is an incredible thing, isn’t it ?”

 

_She shouldn’t be touching that, stop her, stop her-_

 

_It’s okay, she’s a friend._

 

“Show me,” she held up his wrist. “I want to see your fire. Hurry, now.” She demanded.

 

 _It’s okay. She’s a friend._ No other thoughts could break through, he couldn’t even speak.

 

Caleb cupped his hand, whispered three words, and a small fire burned at his palms. This was him in the most primordial form. Without fail his fire was there. The shadows of the miniature bonfire cast beautiful shadows on both of their faces.

 

_Stop, stop, you said you’d only use fire for emergencies.You promised. Stop, stop-_

 

“Good...That’s what I needed.” The woman looked almost relieved. She reached into her pocket and pulled a rectangular device, about the size of a ladies pocket mirror. He recognized it from all those years ago. A summer day, in line with the few other children of the village. The Soltryce Academy had come to them in a gleaming carriage. “Sit for me.”

 

He obeyed, going to the chair by his desk, and she leaned down in front of him. Taking Caleb’s hand and haphazardly unravelling his bandages, she shook her head and looked at him with widened eyes. The woman looked mildly confused at the scars criss crossing over faded arcane letters. “Did you do this ?”

 

“I had to after they released me.” He admitted, unashamed and distant. Caleb wanted to tell her everything. “I couldn’t fall back into the system.” The woman removed a hair pin from her up-do. She pricked his finger and increased her spell as the pain almost awoke him. There was a brief battle for control, his own magic clawed and hissed within and her’s dampened it.

 

“You’re a rare discovery, Mr.Widogast. _Ich freue mich darauf, Sie besser kennenzulernen_.”

 

_It’s okay. She’s a friend._

 

She opened the box, and eight slotted arcane symbols, separated and set apart like a pill box, stood out. She moved his indifferent hand and tapped blood onto each sigil. A second passed before a heavy glow emitted from two of sigils in particular: evocation and transmutation. A second later, and all but one of the sigils glowed: necromancy was the school he had the most difficult time communing with.The Empire hated necromancy to such a degree that his inaptitude was ironically seen as moral prestige. At least that’s what Ikithon had told him.

 

The tiefling woman’s eyes stared, transfixed by the results of the test. It was the same reaction the academy recruiters had when he was a boy of fifteen. Their looks had filled him with pride as a child.

 

Now, as an adult, Caleb _feared_ that look. The hungry gaze, the one that meant he was theirs--not his own.

 

Smoke began to billow from his palm. His mind was at the bottom of a well and he was slowly climbing, swimming to the surface on his way up.

 

_It’s okay. She’s a fri-_

 

“Caleb !” A loud pounding at the classroom door made both Caleb and the woman look up. Beauregard was here ? Beauregard was going to be his Deus Ex Machina ? “Widogast, open up ! I didn’t forget your class, sorta !” Beau’s knocking could crack a door.

 

“Shit…” The woman looked to the window and back at the door. Caleb’s palm was still blistering with heat and his mind slowly trudging through haze. The woman quirked an eyebrow, looked back at Caleb, and leaned close to his ear. “Open the door once I’m gone.” Caleb nodded powerless and happily content to let the woman flee.

 

The woman threw him a last curious glance, and before swinging out the window she paused and said, “Astrid sends her regards.”  

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Nott shook her hands over her sweater three times to be certain she could no longer feel the water. The dishes were clean and placed on the shelves as best she could muster with her height and lack of familiarity. Frumpkin had hidden under the couch for a majority of the day after her lapse.

 

The shaking in her hands had worsened too.

 

Nott picked up on little mysteries, things she pocketed for later inquiry and as a way to combat what her itch was doing to her.

 

_You’re going through withdrawal._

 

_Is that what Yeza called it ?_

 

There were no two similar utensils or plates in Caleb’s home, but one thing was certain: Caleb used the same set every night. Religiously he had picked out the tools from the mess, careful not to touch any of the other dirtied ones. Now that the other dishes were clean, Nott wondered if he’d break routine. She’d set aside his favorite chipped bowl and plate on the counter near the tray with walled compartments that he liked too.

 

The kitchen told her a few more things about Caleb: his fridge had one ketchup bottle, the leftovers from her first night here, a moldy hunk of ‘maybe’ cheese, and a half sliced apple. He clearly wasn’t eating enough.

 

Nott refused to touch the tin boxes on the counter or the bowl where he’d placed her gifts. Her gifts looked at home in the circular dish, inlaid with letters she couldn’t comprehend.

 

It seemed there was an order there--not for her to understand. She mentally made the same choice for the desk in his room. An intuition, a pang in her gut said to wait for Caleb on those two frontiers.

 

Nott pinched herself, something was crawling under her skin.

 

“Frumpkin ?” Nott called to the cat who was still hiding under the couch. Her hands shook.  

All of this self control, piled on top of no drink. It’d been three days. Three entire days without any booze, liquor, spirits--nothing.

 

Nott thought to clean the bathroom next (an attempt to keep her hands and head busy from the thoughts), she thought of all the water she’d be forced to touch. She instead looked at the curious boxes in his living room; a gentle caress that turned almost _itch_ like promised that it would only be one box.

 

_Only one box and you’re done._

 

_No._

 

_The cat isn’t watching you anymore._

 

_No._

 

Nott took to scratching at her arms, the itch could be dug out….Her claws raked against the ugly scabs and scars from her previous attempts to remove the feeling…..She began to realize Caleb must have seen…..He must have seen how ugly her scars were. He could be out getting the authorities right now…..

 

Nott stroked a hand over one of the cardboard boxes, about the same height as her; there were so many and she had none. She had nothing, _her_ box was gone, _her_ flask was gone, Caleb was gone.

 

Fate intervened on her behalf; three steady knocks on the apartment door had Nott looking left, then right, and then speeding under the couch.

 

The knocking continued.

 

Frumpkin hissed at her while she curled against the wall. “Shut up ! Shut up ! Shut up !” Nott whispered back at him.

 

An accented voice, not Caleb’s--but perhaps a region close to his, called and knocked in tandem, “Hello, hello, hello ?” It had a traditionally feminine tilt to it, cheerful and excited. It had to be a Platinum Dragon Follower. “I heard someone in there’.”

 

Nott held her breath, waiting, hoping. It was concerning how the person outside could elongate the words at the end of their sentences, making every sentence sing-songy.

 

The woman kept knocking, ignoring that she was conversing with a door, “You should really put a doormat out here !”

 

“Jester, you’re gonna scare every tenant in the building.” A second voice, with a candor that reminded Nott of the movies with gunslingers and big hat clad men on horses, joined alongside the woman. “I don’t think anyone worth bothering lives in there,” The ‘cowman’ voice took on a teasing tone at the lady named ‘Jester’. “Shit, they even took the numbers off the door…..What if he’s a drug dealer ?”

 

Nott could hear the woman (Jester) scolding the man and ushering him off. “I’m so sorry ! We don’t think you’re a drug dealer even though your house is super dark,” Nott shut her eyes tightly, Frumpkin scooted closer to her.

The joyful lady was looking under the crack in the door, and audibly sliding some sheets of parchment under. “Me and Molly and Fjord are moving in across the hall in a few weeks; they’re super nice and cool, and you’ll totally love them. And we’re having a get together since you’re the only other person on this building’s floor. And also I’m new and going to school in the city-- So don’t be shy, okay ? I’m great at cooking too so I might need to borrow supplies from you later.”

 

Nott knew little of grammar, but that’s what Yeza and her would call three run on sentences. The deluge of information abruptly stopped. Nott and Frumpkin counted the seconds between the lady walking away and their heartbeats.

 

“That could have been worse…..” Nott whispered to Frumpkin; she could have sworn the cat nodded back at her. He slowly pawed his way beside her and purred, unprompted and unfazed by Nott’s small exclamations. “Caleb loves you..I’ll find a way to tolerate you,” Frumpkin blinked at her, moving his tail to and fro. “But, only as long as Caleb loves you. If you ever run away I’ll hunt you down.”

 

Nott was half joking, she scratched behind Frumpkin’s ear and looked around from under the couch. Her head and back brushed up against the metal springs underneath the cushions, and the faint light from outside took on the glow of the setting sun.

 

Caleb said he’d be home soon.

 

There were dust bunnies and copious amounts of cat hair, and another box under the couch. This box was smaller, made of an oaken wood with varnish stains, unlike the cardboard one’s throughout the rest of the apartment. Caleb’s whole house was kept in boxes. Nott couldn’t articulate why this life-style felt weird--or not so weird--but _worrying_ for a human.

 

“I’m going to open this,” Nott looked to Frumpkin for approval. He blinked three times. “If Caleb asks, I’m going to say you gave me an all clear.”

 

She popped the lid off, marveling at how she’d seen jewelry cases similar to this before, but never believed she’d get the opportunity to open one for herself. A thick coat of dust had coalesced over the treasure (Caleb might have forgotten it was here).

 

Nott gasped; inside was a simple silver ring, non-descriptive and too big for her claws; a decorative lapel of a crown with a red cross and a gray ‘x’ behind it; a photograph, faded and torn with three human teenagers; and the biggest diamond Nott had ever seen. It was the type of diamond in movies, hyperbole and made to be showy and never realistic.

 

This was the wrong box to open, she thought. This was the box that posed mysteries about her wizard--questions she didn’t want to think about. Why this simple ring ? Why keep such a giant diamond, but live in a dump ? Who were the other two teenagers (since one of them must have been Caleb.) ?

 

She picked up the lapel, the most worrying object in the box. Why did he have a soldier’s insignia ?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll add the German translations later ! Thank you for everyone whose been commenting and giving such great feedback on the fic.


	7. Chapter 7

_He kept his hands tucked in his arms and squeezed to ease the bleeding. The shard of glass, with goreish red, lay by his feet. It colored the snow in the alleyway. The Archeart Cleric had promised she could get him out, muddle the paperwork, screw up his test results, have him fall through the cracks till no one cared-_

 “Hey, hey, jeez, Caleb. Caleb, common,” The cleric grabbed him by his shirt, shaking his limp body like a rag doll, “Caleb- I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were gonna go down so easily !”

He blinked and one of his eyes refused to open. He wasn’t in the asylum or alleyway (the walls in this room where an ugly yellow, not white and not wet brick); Caleb groaned looking around at the cruddy classroom and a frazzled Beauregard.

She looked down at him with displeasure ? Worry ? He couldn’t tell past his swollen eye and woozy head. “Did you punch me in the face ?”

Beauregard dropped him to the floor and ignored the wince he made on impact, “You’re fucking hungover, aren’t you ?”

 

Caleb shakily stood and made way for his desk chair. He caught a glimpse at the open window, the blinds drifting lazily in the wind. Caleb grabbed his head in his hands, squeezing his temples till the swaying stopped; there had been the well-dressed tiefling woman, the Arcane Pliability Test (that cursed tiny box), Astrid, he’d been told to open the door, smoke was pouring from his hands, he’d cast fire instinctively even without his original target present.

 

“Did you see…..Did I attack you ?” Caleb looked down at his hands lined with scars and old arcane enhancers--his gauze bandages were still on the floor at his chair.

 

“Yeah, you let me in like a zombie and started throwing fire.” Beauregard tilted her head at the door, and let the word ‘fire’ trail at the end of her sentence. To Caleb’s confusion she was handling this far more calmly than he’d anticipated.

 

The door frame had a single, incriminating singe mark.

 He pieced together what had happened; at The Academy they’d called the spell Dominate Person. It was high energy and draining for the individual--usually never memorized and recorded by a mage--but instead commissioned for the army by soldiers. In the last decade they’d figured out how to infuse it to a spell scroll, and more dangerously to an amulet that could attune to a wearer.

 

Beauregard was crossing her arms and leaning against the wall, the spitting image of an interrogator about to begin windling at his defenses. There was a pause in her anger when he looked up from his hands, she’d always been keen in taking him apart.

 

Almost like the little goblin living in his apartment. It was that same look, except Beauregard’s was rougher, more defensive.

 

Caleb swallowed, bit the inside of his cheek, and carefully chose his words. “Thank you for saving me.”

 

For once in his life he was able to choose correctly, Beauregard looked at the ground and nodded to herself, probably drawing her own conclusions and formulating new questions for him (she also noticed the open window). “I knew something was up, they told me you’d canceled class. No way in hell you’d miss a day to lecture about Beowulf.”

 

“Beowulf isn’t Zemnian.”

 

“Don’t give me another reason to punch you.”

 

“Thank you…..” Caleb put a hand up to his cheek. The damage was less than he thought; he could now slightly blink his right eye, despite the swelling around his face and at the brow of his forehead. “So that means no one is coming to class today ?”

 

Beauregard gave him a pitying sigh. “Someone left a note on Norda’s desk that you were sick and she sent everyone home. On the bright side, you might get some brownie points: a few people cheered when they got to head home early.”

 

“Of course.” Caleb pinched the space between his eyes and used the pain of the blooming bruise to ground him.

 

Norda, the secretary at Allfield’s front desk, had many negative opinions about Caleb (he turned in attendance late _one_ time, damn it).

 Caleb could feel his chest constricting. Allfield’s had issues, but it was safe and mundane. He took pride in these tiny routines against all else. Now, he would need to readjust. There was no forgetting, his memory’s flawless recall wouldn’t allow it. He’d look at the door frame forever and see the singe mark and have to stop himself from descending into a loop of memories.

  _She could have ripped your protection amulet right off of you. She could have run through your memories and found all of your spell clients. She could have attacked you at the bookstore. She could march you to a car and take you right to him-_

 

Where would he run to ? Rexentrum’s City State was closest to war, smaller municipalities were unfamiliar and out of the question.

He could flee to the wilderness, the uncharted lands where rumors of mercenary parties and pre-calamity tech ruled. It was the land of Fey and Goblins outside the walled tunnels and cities.

 

_Nott’s former world._

 

Caleb grabbed for the trash can beside his desk and threw up what little food he’d had the night prior.

He sensed Beauregard appear at his side, having made her way over while he clutched his chest and tried to think of what course of action he would take next.

 “Hey, stop that,” Beauregard didn’t reassuringly pat his shoulder or touch him--Beauregard spoke her words as commands that were to be followed. “Let's get some coffee in you; you’ve got  gross bags under your eyes.”

 

“Are you certain they aren’t because you punched me ?”

 

“Shut up, I’ll even pay for both of us.”

 

Caleb shook his head, if the tiefling woman knew were his job was, then she also knew of his house…...

 

_Nott !_

 

Beauregard yanked his arm as he began to stand, he involuntarily ducked his head forward, shaking from the contact.

  _You still have your anti-divination amulet. It’s fine. This is fine. It’s fine._

 Beauregard softened again. They stood in a tense silence where Caleb could feel her analyzing the scars and lacerations over his hands.

 

“Your house is safe….probably.” She said.

 

 _“_ How do you know ?” She could read his thoughts and intentions with a single glance, yet remain so naive.

 

“Because whoever fucked with your brain left you alive. Put your bandages back on, pick up your shit and lets go.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------

 Beauregard dragged him to a cheap coffee shop two blocks from the bookstore he worked in.

  _I should be worried about Beau knowing where my second place of work is. I_ should _be packing my bags and fleeing the city. I_ should _have never let Nott into my life._

 Beau had sat him at a table outside of the cafe, brushing snow off the seats before going in to order. It didn’t feel right letting her pay, this was breaching dangerously close to friendship.

 

_Oh, but making dinner for, and promising to help tutor a tiny goblin is not borderline familial ?_

 

Beau passed him his drink and pulled a third chair from the table beside them. She set it diagonally across from her as a footrest, balancing the one she was sitting in on two legs. With a flick of her wrist she pulled a camping flask out of her backpack (she’d been spiking meeting punch bowls since he met her)  and poured it into her coffee and his.

 

“Can I actually have a little more of that ?” Caleb quietly asked, ignoring Beau rolling her eyes before adding a generous addition to his coffee.

 

Caleb bounced his leg up and down, looking around at the carriages and few military cars that passed by. Cars still gave him the heebie jeebies, things that moved so fast and held so much mechanical power in the hands of the wealthy and military raised red flags.

 

“So, magical fire that shoots from your hands,” Beau balanced her footrest now on two chair legs as well. It was an intimidating and impressive feat. “I knew you were magic, but war-mage magic ? I thought you were only funneling pre-made stuff for a little drug money on the side, like side-show low level remedies. ”

 

Caleb gripped his coffee cup, staring straight ahead at the table. “I’m not a war mage.”

 

“Really ? Because before I clocked you, your hands were glowing like torches.”

 

He’d never been an actual soldier, not like his father. No, he’d been something worse and when they realized that he couldn’t be trained--that’s when they demoted him to a lab rat. “I’m sorry I attacked you.”

 

“Or are you sorry that now you have to answer my questions ?” Her seat came forward with an imposing clack as she leaned into his space. “Because I swear to god, Caleb, if you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on I’m going to rip that fucking amulet off your neck.”

Caleb felt the wind knock out of him. He touched his chest instinctively. “That’s right, you check that it’s there every time you start and end class. What is it ?”

 

If he weren’t terrified, he’d be amazed at her deductions. Who was she ? She’d always been only a scary student and colleague; just another prickly lady chasing after the easiest way to get out of responsibility, and instead into another woman’s bed.

 

It was a blessing that he and Beauregard were no longer the petty, squabbling co-workers from their early days as work study students.

 

_A horrible enemy or wonderful ally._

 

“It’s an amulet of protection…...To be exact it’s to stop divination magic, scrying, and any charms placed on buildings. It also dampens detection spells.”

 

Beau took this in with an owl’s perception before rambling off questions that Caleb believed she had been waiting to ask since when they first met, “You really are a wizard. God, fuck. My parents were always trying to get ahold of one of you.”

 

He bristled at her wording. ‘Get ahold’ was a nice way of saying ‘enslave and harness’.

 She took note of his response, ignored it, and continued talking at him. “You’re not only hoarding up scrolls, you’re working for the big leagues.”

 “I’m a nobody, working for nobodies.” It was the truth. Everyone he translated for was either desperate, poor, alone, or scared. “I’m trying to make a little money on the side, that’s all.”

 That last part wasn’t the whole truth. The money on the side was true, but the illegal spell work--if he looked deeper into it (if he opened up the boxes of dreams he’d compartmentalized) he would laugh at the silly hope that had grown in a corner of his life.

 

_A silly impossible dream._

 Beau’s eyes flashed with a hint of understanding, maybe even empathy. “I’ve only ever seen Platinum Dragon clerics use magic, I never thought little Caleb Widogast was a pyro magician.” Caleb drank deeply from his coffee. “And now you’ve gotten in over your head….What exactly happened ?”

 

“I’m not certain.” The coffee wasn’t strong enough.

 

“What are you going to do now ?”

 

“That depends on you and the woman who targeted me.” He reached over to Beau’s camping flask and poured another helping to his coffee, ignoring her protests in the background.

 

“This better not get me arrested.”

 A terrific level of exhaustion came over Caleb, numbness and all wrapped up in the desire to sleep forever in his apartment. “It won’t.”

 

_Another lie. The more you lean into these small comforts, the greater the pain will be when you have to leave or when your enemies catch the people you’ve grown close to._

 

“Yeah, it better not !” Beau repeated, unable to make another comeback.

 Caleb reached into his pocket for a few coppers, he couldn’t let Beau pay. He was too beholden to her already. He opened his hand up, the coins mingled against his re-bandaged hands.

 

_Best you always apply them in the dark. It can be frightening seeing the scars again._

 

He jostled in his pocket again, looking for a silver piece. His hand froze as it brushed up against something he had not remembered placing there.

 

_She’d slipped out the window….Had she left something in my pocket ? Is she tracking me-_

 “I have to leave.” Caleb stood, toppled the chair he was sitting in and started to run.

 

“Woah, nice. Real cool, Caleb ! You can’t avoid me; we work together, dumbass !” Beau yelled after him, bystanders looked for a second and shrugged before going back to their business.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Nott laid out two of Yeza’s letters, spreading them on the floor around her makeshift alchemy lab in Caleb’s bathroom. The parchment pieces smelled of home-made paper and the specialized ink that Yeza brewed himself.

 

The note left by ‘Jester-the-weirdo’ also sat off to the left of Nott’s work. Nott had opened the pink envelope and been met with a gallon of glitter (some of which refused to come off her hands no matter how much she scratched) and a very frilly card offering a wonderous, aggressively happy friendship that was borderline cult-ish in tone.

 

Nott scratched at her arms. The glitter between the sleeves and bandages she’d found in Caleb’s bathroom felt similar to her foot falling asleep.

 

Her itch wouldn’t stop, she’d have to appease it.

 

Drinking was fun, and so was making the drink itself. Caleb had all of the necessary ingredients: sugar with ants crawling inside the bag, a nice helping of yeast in dark brown clumps, and wet sticky cornmeal.

 

Caleb wasn’t home yet, and the thought of the lapel under the couch swam in the back of her head. She could still run, she could still flee if he brought soldiers back with him to murder her.

Denial was a powerful thing (same as addiction), and she’d indulge herself in the fantasy that she’d instead thrown in her lot with someone who _killed_ a Crownsguard and stole their lapel, and not someone who was a _killer_ soldier for the very people out to get her.

 

Soldiers didn’t cry--or at least the ones who were proper didn’t. Nott knew that to be certain. Soldier’s don’t keep pet cats--they kick them and eat them. She’d seen that for herself. Soldiers don’t give gifts--soldiers are told to take and never stop, and maybe that was why her stint as one of them had lasted longer than any other of her jobs in the clan.

 

_Come back. Don’t pull a Caleb. You have a harder time coming back than he does._

 

Nott also decided to leave Caleb’s bathroom uncleaned for two reasons: the first being that like his kitchen counter, there were books and colored vials that Frumpkin warned her about touching, and the second being that if she destroyed the Moonshine formula she could hide the damage in the bathtub.

 

Splotches of faded bright hues of lime green, crimson, cobalt, and orange lined the walls and rim of the raised, copper bathtub. Nott could deduce Caleb had been using the tub as his wizard cauldron, and not actually for bathing.

 

Nott stood on the tips of her clawed feet and dumped the sack of sugar into the warm water, she had to rest the bag on her shoulder to get it over the rim.

 

_Steady your hands or you could hurt yourself irreparably._

 

Yeza taught her to mess with the chemical bonds that he claimed were intrinsically everywhere. He had been the first to gently lay his hands over Nott’s, guiding her to which compounds and elements she should know on a first name basis.

 

Nott closed her eyes, and reached for the bag of yeast. She lifted the hem of her shirt over her nose to keep the dust away.

 

Nott could faintly pretend they were together again in the hatch under his apothecary, Caleb’s soap bottles and colored vials were Yeza’s beakers that he so loved to clean and boast about.

 

She was not being grounded, as she hoped. Instead, she began to float into memories.

 

In the day time, when she wasn’t allowed to go out into Felderwin, he had lit lanterns for her in the basement. He’d wasted oil on the dozens of lights to create a false sun for _only_ her. The underground world he made had been dreamy and wholesome after years of living in the dungeons she’d worked in.

 

_I get to stay here ? You’re letting me stay ?_

 

_For a little while._

 

Nott had chuckled with glee, swatted at the lights with feverish joy, and then wrapped her arms around Yeza’s midriff, so happy to be gifted with a soft world and fascinating tinkering objects.

 

But, he had looked down at her in _horror,_ not joy. He’d pushed her away, not roughly, but she’d  wished he had.

 

No matter what Nott did, there was no erasing how they’d met.

 

There was no stopping how he’d cower while she hissed after burning her hand, or flinch when her voice began to raise with excitement. He looked at her and saw the what the goblins had done to him, and for that she could never blame him.

 

Caleb had a mirror in his bathroom; it was fortunate it was too high for Nott to get a look at her own face.

Nott pushed the palms of her hands into her eyes, sucked in a deep breath to steady herself. It’s hard to go through life with your eyes always open and sober, Nott considered.

 

_You’re going to find a way to close that chapter. You’ll make it up to him. You promised him._

 

She heard Frumpkin trot in, jumping onto the rim of the bathtub and giving her his usual stare.

 

Nott kept her palms pressed into her eyes, “Go away, I’m busy fermenting booze.”

 

Frumpkin nudged at her face, drawing back and poking her again. He jumped off the tub to meow and swish around her. When she didn’t respond he began head butting her leg.

 

She opened her eyes and watched Frumpkin go to the door of the bathroom, looking over his shoulder for her to follow.

 

“What is it ? I’ll eat you, I’m not picky.” Her threats were losing their touch.

 

The cat meowed again and ran into the door adjacent to the bathroom--Caleb’s room. Nott followed, mainly for the sake of the work she’d done folding all of Caleb’s clothes, she knew cats liked to ruin lives for fun.

 

The cat waited for her to enter and swayed at the windowsill next to Caleb’s desk, pleased that Nott had listened to his demands.

The irony was present. The cat and her had their stints of rivalry on the fire escape, but without him she’d have never found Caleb.

 

“You can go out and play in a second,” Nott said, heading back to the couch where Caleb had placed warm clothes for her mixed in with her older items. Caleb had asked Nott to be with Frumpkin if she went out.

 

She felt a pang of guilt at relying on Caleb’s gifts; the soft socks and too big scarves smelled strongly of human.

 

_This safe soft world will not last._

 Nott made her way back to his room, lifted herself onto the windowsill (her claws scratching the paint on the wall), and shoved the window open. The cold air hit her in the same way she’d hit the water after the Crownsguards incident. Frumpkin and Nott climbed onto the rusty landing and looked up at the late afternoon sky.

 

_A snow storm is coming._

 

Nott had honed herself to be ready for this. In the clan if you didn’t smell the storm in advance, you gained no pity from your fellow brothers and sisters in arms.

 

Her reverie was broken by clumsy movement and noise down below in the alleway: her red-haired, shy wizard was pacing the alleway muttering to himself in his words.

 

_“Visitenkarte, Test, fünf Goldstücke, Zeitung.... Ophelia ?”_

 

Caleb came back, Nott thought. He’s actually come back. She watched him pace around more, making tracks in the snow in panicky circles.

 

Watching him tensely walkabout made her realize how stupid she’d been. He wasn’t a soldier, or a warrior. He was a sad wizard who cried and let a cat boss him around. Caleb was still gesturing with his hands and talking to himself, unaware of Nott and Frumpkin watching him.

 

“He does this a lot ?” Nott asked Frumpkin.

 

Frumpkin blinked twice.

 

“Whatcha' up to, Cay’ ?” Nott yelled to him and jumped to the railing of the fire escape, holding onto it with the upper half of her body and letting her legs swing back and forth in the gap between the platform. Caleb painfully flinched and then saw her. “Did you have a good day at school ?”

 

It was the wrong question to ask; his face was creased with worry and fear. Caleb was far below her, but she could still see purple and red coloring around one of his cheeks and eye.

 

_The guard must have attacked him again !_

 

Nott put her fury on pause. “You should come up here with Frumpkin and me. It’s a nice view….”

 

Caleb averted his eyes and hugged himself. He picked at the hem of his coat and didn’t respond. His feet were kept firm in prints he’d made in the snow.

 

Nott went to the hatch on the landing; the ladder had a few rungs missing and frozen water on the railings. “Come on up, Caleb.” She brushed a little of the snow off the top rung and called to him.

 

She watched him collect himself, open his mouth to speak and hold himself back. “That’s a very high climb.”

 

“You can do it.” He made lights from nothing and let a goblin sleep by his side. He wasn’t a soldier, and he wasn’t a warrior. Caleb was still brave and special, despite this. “I won’t let you fall.”

 

“I could enter from the front door.”

 

“Where’s the fun in that ?” Nott pushed her anger down. She’d make whoever hurt him pay after  getting him to loosen the strain he was under.

 

Caleb shuffled to the bottom rung, hesitating before staring at her. Caleb lifted himself up, making his way by clinging to the ladder each time it creaked and groaned. He was painfully skinny and to watch him struggle was borderline pathetic. “This was a shit idea, Nott.”

 

“Don’t close your eyes while you climb !”

 

“You made this journey everyday ?!” Caleb yelled in a confused, mildly horrified, voice. The situation was hilarious enough that he was forgetting to keep his voice down.

 

“Too late to turn back now.” He was on the second story's fire escape, one more ladder to go.

 

Caleb finally pulled himself onto their landing, laying on his back, panting and gasping as he brushed snow off his shoulders and out of his hair. “You are far more adventurous than I, Nott The Brave.”

 

Nott lowered herself by his head, she put a claw against his cheek noticing how his tiny freckles disappear in the brusie. Frumpkin licked the other side of Caleb’s face.

 

Nott couldn’t help poking at the puffy discoloring, “Who did this to you ?”

 

Caleb ran a hand through his hair, “Nott, why did you choose me ?”

 

“Choose ?”

 

_What does that have to do with me killing who hurt you ?_

 

Caleb’s not even looking at her, he’s focused on the falling snow and the sky, “You were leaving things for nothing in exchange. No promise of compensation. It could have been anyone. Why me ?”

 

He was still laying on his back with her poking his cheek, as unfocused and strange as he was pacing around the alleyway talking to himself.

 

Nott shrugged and took a bit of snow from the landing to place around his bruise. Caleb and her winced in unison. He didn't sit up; she planned to take care of him for as long as he’s within her reach.

 

Now Caleb looks at her, waiting for her to either poorly lie or avoid his questions.

 

_I need something impossible. A wizard is an impossible thing._

 

“It’s hard to live here, Caleb.” Nott imagined that blue flowers would look nice in his hair. “And it seemed like you were having a hard time….Like me.”

 

He acted unfazed by the implication that she was spying on him, a fact that surprised her.

 

He sat up, and stared at his bandaged hands. “Nott, what if I told you that living with me would make your life harder.”

 

“What ?” She hadn't felt truly safe in months, years in fact. “Living with you is one of the nicest things that's ever happened to me.”

 

Caleb’s eyes went glossy, the signs of tears were near.

 

“Nott, I-” He squeezed his throat. “I’m going to tell you the story of how I murdered my mother and father.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't try to make Nott's Moonshine. You might go blind. Fun fact: I tried to hint that all of the ingredients she found in Caleb's kitchen had gone bad (yeast is not supposed to look like that and ants in your sugar is a no go). 
> 
>  
> 
> Episode 48 really kicked my heart while it was down. Luckily, I don't think this new Nott canon changes much for what I already had planned for this fic. If anything, it enhances and helps me write the ideas I'd been leaning towards for a while. 
> 
> I needed to finish this chapter to treat myself to some soft Nott and Caleb....Already next chapter I'm working on has me laying it on thick in anticipation for the next few weeks where we deal with this crazy aftermath.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some exposition.

“I was born in a Periphery Community, outside of the City States. It was called Blumenthal. It was in the Zemni Fields.” To put the past into words was going shockingly well. Caleb had let the story rest in his ribs, accumulating nightmares for five years. If he stopped now, Caleb feared he’d never start again. “My mother’s name was Una. My father’s name was Leofric.”

 

Blumenthal was never more than thirteen shacks surrounded by a series of picket fences and blue flowers. Its humble layout had birthed three talented mages, something the residents had called a curse, and others considered a miracle. Early memories of his hand running across the splintery, aged wood of the fences broke forth from the compartments he’s shoved them in. He was a wanderer as a child.

 

It was a wonder he hadn’t gone too far, hadn’t been snatched by an ogre, a dire-wolf, or by goblins-

 

Nott had gone stiff when he’d began his story, and had to hold her hands over her mouth to listen.

 

_This will scare her away, and then she will be safe. She will find a home outside of this walled city and away from its horrors and mine._

 

“You lived in a Periphery Community ?” Nott spoke behind her hands. Her large, yellow eyes fluctuated, growing a glossy sheen that she blinked away each time.

 

“My father was a soldier till his injuries had him discharged.” His family had lived together in a single roomed hut with a beautiful cat and rafters that he’d played in as a boy. His bed had been connected to a ladder where an alcove of hay was set aside for him.

 

“Is Blumenthal near Felderwin ?” She took her claw and drew a shape in the snow. It wasn’t wise to be having this conversation on the fire escape; yet it felt sound and right that they should be talking in the same place they’d first ‘met’.

 

“It _was_ near Felderwin.” The Periphery Communities were afterthoughts to the higher City Governments. That became abundantly clear during his final exam. His parents used to weave stories of how The City States had tried for so long to incorporate all people’s into their protection, and that one day they would no longer be forgotten. “There were many years that my village starved and we relied on Felderwin to send us aid.”

 

Nott nods, like she knows this information already.

 

_She has a natural aptitude. But, where would she have heard of Felderwin ?_

 

“I was….in a sense bright. Not very strong or coordinated, of course. Life came easy to me in other ways.” He’d sobbed for a dead bird their farm cat killed, and spent long hours staring into the village well. His favorite days were when his father would risk taking him outside the fences and to a stream with river rocks.

Initially the village hadn’t been happy with these traits ( _there’s something not right with him, Leofric_ ). They’d stopped their complaining at the realization that he could stack numbers better than their old treasurer, and that he had an uncanny sense for absorbing and recording detail. He could remember the names of people he’d met only a second ago, memorize stanzas of poetry, languages were a puzzle to decipher. “I don’t know if you know this...but magic is fickle in our time. It chooses who it wants in Wildemount at random. Unless you’re a cleric, then you are predestined…..Or at least that’s what many believe. Magic does what she wishes.”

 

Nott kept nodding her head and pushing snow around into small, hilly clumps, “I thought magic wasn’t real till I met you.”

 

Caleb stammered for a response. The profound irony was that, to Caleb, Nott represented an element of the world where magic flourished. He’d only used trival magic around Nott, primarily the orbs of light he created at night. Her fascination, and the way she’d stare at them, her head bobbing in time with the floating phosphorus, took on a new and painfully sweet meaning.

 

_This will be over soon. She will leave. That curious look will be gone._

 

“My mother and father never expected their child to be able to do such things. It was an accident at first, a book fell into my hands that I shouldn’t have had.” The caravan had been dumping knick knacks and loose goods. Trash and charlatan folks would sell broken hand-me-downs: toasters, radios, oil lamps, items they swore hadn’t been stolen. Caleb had picked up a forgotten piece that was one part diary, two parts textbook. A scribbling of ink smeared words on the back pages had started up the fire waiting dormant. “It was a good time, mother never again had to get the flintstones out and we could have light in the winter months. A few times my power would flow uncontrolled, but only a few times.”

 

“You can do more than the lights ?” Nott’s voice, which usually carried and was exceptionally loud for her tiny body, was quiet.

 

He chuckled, hollowly, “Yes, I gave my _mutter_ a scare once when I accidentally set _vater’s_ shoes on fire.”

_Schau Mama, es ist genau wie meine Haare._

 

“You can make fire ?” Her expression wasn’t hungry and possessive, it was almost yearning and desperate. It wasn’t the look Ophelia Mardune gave him. It was the same look the village had given him.

 

“Yes, I can make fire.” I can do many horrible acts, he thought. “Word spread quickly of my ability. Eventually the Census workers and the doctors came to begin testing for magic in our midst.” His father had placed his hand onto Caleb’s shoulder while they stood in line. The Cerberus Assembly Recruiters had worn the finest of clothes, contrasting to the burlap and home spun wool the villagers wore. “My parents were frightened that I’d be conscripted, but they felt The Assembly knew best. They promised I would be placed where I needed to be.”

 

“Conscripted ? Like to the military ?” Nott cocked her head and analyzed Caleb’s lithe frame, clearly skeptical as her ears lowered against her head. “They didn’t do that, right ?”

 

“Not exactly,” He could remember Astrid, Eudowolf, and him placing a punctured finger onto the Arcane Pliability Tests. For Astrid: Divination, Evocation, Enchantment. For Eudowolf: Evocation and Abjuration. For Caleb: all the sigils had glowed to some degree. “The Cerberus Assembly wants to make a closer Empire….They want a collective. They need to know where their magic is. If you are talented they will first send you to an institution called Soltryce….From there you will be chosen by someone of prestige.”

 

Nott inched closer to Caleb, placing her claw on his knee, “Chosen ?”

 

She wasn’t running away yet. Her fascination held strong.

 

“Yes, chosen.”  He’d dreamed for years of finding a place where he could escape from the dangers of the woods and the claustrophobia of his home. His parents kept saying that they were proud, and that what was happening was for the best. In the same breadth, he also threw himself into the luxuries the school offered. His clothes were manufactured by machines that could stitch better than his mother could sew, food never ran out, he could go into the city and shove his face against the windows of stores with strange new technologies, and music played from boxes that you could hook up with wire antenna. He’d found a tiny alcove in the library and carved his name under the bench (a rare show of his old habits and pranks from home). “If you fail to adjust to those circumstances…..They put you somewhere else.”

 

“Did they,” Nott now wouldn’t even look at him. “Put you somewhere else ?”

 

“Eventually they did. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.” Trent Ikithon had approached Caleb on a spring day when the setting sun came through the library’s glass windows in multicolored waves. Ikithon had always seemed elderly, wisened, frail in body, but tall in frame and deceptively quiet. Caleb remembered looking up from his book and clumsily saluting the man who’d been watching him silently.  “For a while I was very happy.”

 

“Why are you telling me this ?” Nott shuffled over and was now clutching onto his knee, her small hand gripped and twisting at the hem of his pant leg. “You don’t have to tell me anymore, you shouldn’t have to.”

 

“I must,” Caleb reached into his pocket and held the Arcane Pliability Test out to Nott, “I’ve been reckless….And I’ve made you into an unknowing target”

 

In her escape, Caleb hadn’t felt as Ophelia had left him two parting gifts in the pocket of his coat: a business card and the mechanism that she’d used to test how far his power extended. It was a move that told Caleb more than the business card could; whatever powers he’d angered weren’t afraid to say their names in broad daylight.

 

There was one faint glimmer for him, and that was that he’d kicked a hornets nest, but not one that held Ikithon in it. No, whoever _they_ were, whoever Astrid currently aligned herself with, they weren’t the Dwindalian Government. If it was, then Caleb would already be in the back of a military vehicle.

 

He continued his story while Nott’s attention flicked over the box in his hand, her wordless dissection of the box was characteristic of a deeper sense that he could admire, it was a shame he’d lose this bright friend of his so soon. “After a year of schooling, I was introduced to the man who would conscript me as his servant: Trent Ikithon. I was to be his apprentice, and eventually under his tutelage they expected I’d become a War Caster. It was a special privledge to be chosen by him, he was renowned in The Assembly. His family had been survivors from the first mage clashes, and I passed by his portrait everyday on the way to class. ”

 

Blumenthal had looked at the three chosen children as saviors. If they could rise through the ranks then there would be hope that their families could be allowed to live in a City State.

 

“He was,” Caleb stalled, how could he convey the duplicity that Ikithon played so well. The man had made Caleb feel seen, wanted, _special._ He’d been so _nice._ He could remember the vivid feelings of excitement and woozy confusion when he entered Ikithon's office. The man had opened a box of candies and offered him one with a smile, subtly asking how Caleb was enjoying the school.Ikithon had been larger than god in his mind.“He hurt me a lot.”

 

"He hurt you ?" Nott repeated, scared to directly ask for clarification. 

 

"Yeah," It felt almost wrong to say it aloud. He used to be able to stand at the mirror, rationalizing every bruise for its necessity. He'd thought of a great trick where he'd press the palms of his hands into his eyes to stopper the tears that were, of course, never Ikithon's fault. "He demanded the best. He put us through very intense testing."

 

“He tortured you ?” She jumped to that conclusion. He winced in response to her word choice.

 

“Not at first,” Ikithon had picked Caleb with the intention of testing his regiment on him before the others. Astrid and Eudowolf were to follow in three months time. The man’s estate was vast and his mansion had a tower set aside for Caleb. It was a monastery in nature with a pallet, desk, bathroom, and barred window. For three months he was confined to his room, stealing quick and brief words with the servants ordered to bring him food. From his window he could see Rexxentrum’s metropolis, a gray speck in the distance. “At first he simply kept me alone in one of his towers. I translated spell scrolls for him and did his paperwork. He was possessive of me.”

 

“Like Rapunzel.”

 

“Yes,” Caleb couldn’t help smiling at Nott’s assertion, there's a nostalgia and a painful appreciation for her in that moment. Rapunzel was a Zemnian fairy tale. Except, Rapunzel had her moment of rebellion, Caleb did not. Ikithon had fed him flavored propaganda and madness and Caleb had eaten till the bitter end. “He started then coming to my tower and working on advanced lessons.”

 

Nott, ever clever and perceptive, noticed him scratching at his bandages.

 

Caleb had been obedient during his time in the tower. He’d watched, biting his tongue, as Ikithon unrolled the tool pouch, tipped pens with arcane ink in them. His throat had been dry and his stomach empty as his beloved mentor had begun carving in the glyphs and symbols on his hands. He never complained about the many days without food, or the nights Ikithon would lecture him on his weaknesses till the sky turned a faint grey indicating mornings arrival.

 The lash became a right of passage, and a preferred torment over the silence and loneliness. 

He remembered _everything._ The smell of his burnt flesh, the color and grains of the wood on the tables. The color Ikithon wore each day. Nightmares are said to be scary enough that many don’t remember them as real, that trauma can turn into dreams. Everyone has that luxury except him.

 

_You had an idea that it could be much worse. He could have made life much harder for you….And then he did._

 

“Did your parents send you any letters ?”

 

“They- They had...but I was never allowed to see them.”

 

He'd pay for all the things he never read. 

 

 “I was alone in the tower….And, you know there were these crows who’d bring me things on the windowsill. I’d feed them and they brought buttons, ribbon, coins--anything they liked. I guess that's why when you started leaving things for me...I thought you were a fey.” There was a silence then, he focused in on her reaction and still found it to be sympathetic towards him. It's funny, how her fangs jut out and her claws curl, but he feels none of the fear that he should around her. His stomach was rolling painfully, the story was bigger than he could place it into words. “Two other students from my village would join me in adjacent towers for their training. We worked and learned. We were to keep the new Empire safe and strong. We were to bring a new generation about with our magic. And then came our graduation.”

 

Nott’s let out a nervous huff of breath, readying for the inevitable next part of the story.

 

“Ikithon showed us reports….rumors of plans and evidence that my parents were- were- _conspirators_ ; that they were _terrorists_.” Astrid, who’d been a comfort to him in the darkness, she’d mirrored Caleb’s furious expression at the news. The shame had risen over him for his status, and family; and for the inevitable threats that he never expected would infiltrate his own life. ”He said they were traitors, and I refused to believe it, till I traveled home one night and heard them by the stairs talking and-”

 

“And then they let Blumenthal go,” Nott was unable to get his entire hand into her’s. She finished his sentence and settled for holding onto his fingers at the knuckles. “They left them to fend for themselves in the Wildewoods.”

 

Caleb squeezed her hand back, uncertain of how much affection to take. “Ikithon had me burn the document ties to King Dwindel. I was so sure, Nott. I was so certain, till my father’s letter came--and then I wasn’t.” A seventeen year old boy, who’d been more than happy to cast off what he’d assumed were shackles, had vouched alongside his other two classmates of their family’s treachery, but then read a letter (one of many) and his mind had shattered from the truth. “They loved me. They were so good to me, Nott. They were so good to me and I killed them. I exiled them and my home.”

 

“Caleb, you didn’t know-”

 

“I exiled them for a man who starved and beat me ! I’m a disgusting person ! I’m a monster, Nott-”

 

He couldn’t finish his sentence before he startled forward, his stomach unable to cope with the weight of his confession. His body ejected the vodka and coffee from Beau over the railing of the fire escape.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Nott regretted having Caleb climb the fire escape; she regretted how he had to struggle through his own bedroom window; and she regretted hearing him fall clumsily onto his bedroom floor.

The wizard and her were like the cardboard boxes littering the city and his apartment; they had too much to unpack in one sitting. The selfish relief that Caleb wasn’t a soldier (anymore) who’d turn her in pinched Nott’s heart.

 

She couldn’t relate to his perfect memory. He’d told his story clearly, reliving it in shades of truth and fact that he dulled by blaming himself.

 

Her own memories, well, that was a concoction of difficult to explain misery. Some of which she wondered if she could claim as her own.

 

_You’re not her ! Get out ! Get Out !_

 

“It’s okay, we’re almost there. Hang in there,” she deftly followed him in, helping him lay down onto his mattress, and removing his shoes for him once Caleb settled on his back. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore, we’re fine, we’re fine.”

 

 _You need a drink. You need to drink. He needs a few drinks too._ Her throat clicked as she swallowed down the urge.

 

Nott looked back at Caleb, trying to see what he thought of himself. The way he’d opened his story, about murdering his parents, like he was the one who cut the tether from the resources.

 

_He was a boy. He was like a prisoner in that tower. What else did that man do to him ?_

 

Isn’t it a terrible irony that the creature who entombs himself with books, doesn’t have the sense to realize he’s not entirely at fault, Nott thought.

 

She went out to the living room, gathered the blankets on the couch, and dumped them on Caleb’s stomach.

 

Caleb made an undignified ‘oof’ and came to the sense that Nott was still with him.

 

“Nott, please listen-” Caleb, in one fist was squeezing the rectangular box he’d used in his story. His other hand was trying to reach for her shoulder to stop her fussing over him. He’d been almost catatonic, silent and pliable to her suggestions till now. “ _Nottchen, bitte_ you don’t need to stay. You need to leave.”

 

Nott halted her blanket placing and stared at him straight in the face, it took a considerable effort to not glance back at the floor. Caleb was a disheveled man, his red hair bushy and curly alongside his beard. Despite that, his painfully earnest expression could disarm her. He’d be a handsome man if he cleaned up a bit. Another thing they took away from him, Nott thought.

 

“I’m not leaving.” _The military insignia, the diamond, the boxes, the hidden magic. They turned him into this. They tried to_ change _him. They warped him into this._

 

He was mad if he thought she’d leave him now. No, she’d come to the city for something impossible and their meeting was that. Caleb Widogast, the wizard they’d tried to turn into a soldier was meant for her. The outline of a brighter creature, a better man, a happier existence hung at the periphery of his frame.

 

“Nott, you’re in danger.” He hekd up the rectangular box again, shaking it in front of her like it’s supposed to make sense why he’s pushing her away. Caleb started to stare around the room, actually taking it in and processing it now, “Who folded all my clothes ?”

 

Nott grinned her toothy, messy smile and bounced next to him. She rolled her weight till her head was rested beside his chest and arm, noticing how he shivered like a leaf in the wind at her touch. She nestled into the crook under his arm, thinking how his side was vulnerable, and now with her next to it there was a shield. “If I go, who will fix your radiator and leave you things on the fire escape ? You’re too skinny to live by yourself.”

 

He began to protest, but did not push her away. This close she can smell him. He’s like a bonfire or a tinderbox. He said he could make fire, but she wonders if instead he’s the fire. A good fire needs someone to kindle it and protect it from the elements.

 

Caleb squeezed her, all of his bluster over having her leave was for her sake only.  “I have not told you everything. There is more.”

 

“Yeah ? We have plenty of time for that afterwards.”

 

In one hand his grip was on the rectangular box, and on his other side Nott lay close to his chest. “Afterwards ?”

 

“After we go out and get food.”

 

“I- I don’t follow.” Caleb uncurled his hand from the box and used his other free hand to rest a fragile palm atop her head.

 

_Good, let’s think about that fire for later. We’ll put it out soon, when we’re ready._

 

“I smelled a snow storm, a big one. You and I are gonna window shop.”

 

His eyes, as vibrant and blue no matter the mess he disguised himself with, met her’s, “You and I ?”

 

“Yeah, you and me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the extreme length of time between updates and how short this chapter is. School and things have gotten in the way of me writing for fun. So far I have chapter nine and ten outlined roughly and am going to try and get them out in a more timely manner. This chapter is short and more Caleb centric on the basis that I had a little exposition I wanted out in the open. Next chapter will begin from Nott's POV, have more action, plot progression, and some shoplifting.


	9. Chapter 9

Nott had been missing out by hiding under city bridges, and in gym locker rooms during the day. The early afternoon city, that Nott had avoided, was a perfect hunting ground. She’d stuck her hand into three coat pockets, undetected, by everyone except Caleb. And surprisingly, Caleb said nothing. He’d bite his lip, or look around, but he never protested. She’d never had a partner in crime before.

 

Nott had kept her head down, and kicked herself for not being braver sooner. “Caleb ! Caleb ! That guy has red hair like you, do you know him ?”

 

“Ah, uh, I’m sorry….My daughter is very curious-” Caleb had her hidden behind his leg before the random human could get a better look at them. “Come along now.”

 

Nott pressed against him, “Shit, I mean- Vater, dis’ guten tag est’ real good.”

 

They passed paperboys, rickshaw barkers, fruit vendors, and clergy folk. All these groups yelled and fought to grab the attention of the passersby’s.

 

Only one group gave Caleb reason to hurry their pace along: “Gnome women ! Young, gnome woman !” The man pointed at Nott as they walked, effectively making she and Caleb startle backwards, most people assumed she was a sick child wrapped up in bandages and her face mask. “Are you and your friend aware of the jobs we have available for those immigrating from The Periphery Communities ?”

 

This group had a high scaffold that was adorned by posters and colorful buttons with olden armored knights, a long line of non-human individuals snaked around it; they were waiting to sign up for the cause advertised.

 

As the, ‘no thank you’ formed on Nott’s tongue she was hurried away by Caleb. Nott turned to scold him for dragging her around, and paused when she saw his stricken face.

 

“Were those people you knew ?” Nott looked back over her shoulder, catching the last glimpses of the half-orcs, dwarves, and few gnomes lining up to hear and receive what the man was offering. “Are they wizards ?”

 

“They are idiots,”--he looked over his shoulder as well--”They’re a political machine. It’s dangerous what they’re doing...in broad daylight too. Stupid and reckless.”

 

His demeanor, that had once been good for blending in, had become almost manic, similar to how she'd been relapsing early in the day. Nott could tell he too didn’t come out into the world.

 

Nott thought to tell him of her day, thinking it harmless to babble about her cleaning and how his house was fascinating (she left out the part about the rat, the jitters and itch, and the bathtub moonshine). For an instant, Caleb calmed; and then she let slip of the incoming neighbors.

 

“You are certain they’re moving in across the hall ?” Caleb whispered to her and looked left and right, down every street they passed, and during their walk he also took to searching upward at the sky. When Nott asked him about why, he mumbled something about levitationers and blimps.

 

Nott would have to calm him down ( _again)_ a block away from the supermarket, keep the conversations fresh and herself near him, they were at the disadvantage of not looking the part of people who shopped at higher chains. “Yeah, she left a glittery death threat and everything.”

 

“There is a phrase in the Zemni Fields for those type of people: ‘ _sie hat nicht alle Tassen im Schrank’.”_

 

“Tickity-tock clogs, and bratwurst.”

 

“You’re a little menace.”

 

Nott could tell he didn’t mean it. He tried so hard to wear his sadness all around him, and all it took was the lite tug of a joke to reveal his true self. The set of his shoulders and the way he focused in on her, giving her the attention she’d never had before, was clear. “We’ll add neighbors to the list of obstacles.”

 

Caleb continued smiling at Nott (she’d done it again, eased him into a comfortable existence), but the moment was dashed by a human woman angrily pushing past them as they crossed the street. When they reached the other side of the crosswalk, Caleb pulled them both out of the way, and in a frustrated huff leaned down and started fidgeting with Nott’s coat, pulling the hood over her forehead and making sure her claws were covered with mittens. He transitioned to pulling at the scarf around the lower half of her face, mumbling something she couldn’t catch.

 

Nott could acutely hear his heart making quick thuds in his chest, back to panic, her goblin senses smelled and heard the shape of his anxiety to an intimate degree. His mood had fluctuated as they walked. He'd been happy to be with her, but not settled or consistent in his emotions.

Nott stared at the bruising around his eye, and was reminded of a halfling, chemist boy running away from other children who sought to break his instruments or bruise him. 

 

Caleb had claimed that they’d be safer together, but she couldn’t have expected the vulnerability he radiated. She also hadn’t expected him to try and mother _her._ It was sweet, but it put them in danger.

Nott tried to shove off his helping hands. A woman using a cell phone, brick sized with a long antenna, glanced at them before moving on. They weren’t going to be as lucky if a nosy Crownsguard started interrogating them. “The more you fidget with my scarf, the more people stare ! They’re going to think I’m a leper.”

 

“I’d rather they think of you as a leper, than a _goblin_ !”

 

“...”

 

“Oh, that was uncalled for,” he slowed his twisting and mangling at her disguise. “I did not mean to imply that.”

 

A more bitter part of her wanted to shout at him and make a scene, tell him that she’d never asked for any of this. He too didn’t belong, his human form just made it easier to pretend. He was lucky she wasn’t drunk, then he’d really know how she felt. “I can go back to the apartment; it’s fine.”

 

“This was your idea. It’s a very good one too-”

 

“I’ll go back to the house,”--Nott shrugged and shoved both her hands into her coat pockets, the art of guilting someone after being caught, or stopped, or mocked was her specialty--”I’ll be alright.”

 

She moved to walk away and was held by Caleb’s hand on her elbow, “What if you could look different for an hour or two ?”

 

“I can’t look any more different than this.” Her throat tightened as she kept her composure.

 

“With my help you can.” He pulled them away from the street and out of sight to a loading dock surrounded by wooden barrels.

 

He’d told her he could do more, and his apartment was a testament to the otherness that she’d found hiding in the human man. Yet, there was a difference between floating lights and the fairy tale he was promising. “It’s gonna hurt, isn’t it ?”

 

Caleb shook his head. He could soften himself drastically around her. It was strange, trying to envision him in the works as a soldier. It was almost impossible to imagine him condemning an entire village to oblivion.

 

“It will feel... _off._ It’s not wholly illusory what I can do.” He looked around them again, he kept pulling at a loose string on the hem of his coat. “I haven’t polymorphed a person in years. But you’re right, I don’t have enough food for us both if a major snowstorm is near.”

 

His voice was losing its volume. Nott could tell she had a small window of time before he took back this request.

 

_Magic isn’t real anymore._

 

Her head spun. This would be the part of the story that he revealed he actually was crazy (or a vampire going to dine on her blood), “Okay, I’m ready.”

 

“One word,”--He snapped his fingers to illustrate his point-- “And I will stop the spell.”

 

“I trust you.” She did. Nott didn’t believe in what he promised, but she hypocritically could believe in Caleb Widogast.

 

“At any moment you can bail.” Caleb opened up his coat, a long brown and ratty thing with a white bomber lining at the collar, and reached his hand impossibly deep into one of the inner, hidden pockets. His whole arm was encapsulated into a darkness that Nott couldn’t see past with her keen eyes. No light penetrated the pocket’s deep, deep abyss and for a second Nott thought Caleb would fall into his own jacket. “I’ll transmute you into a halfling for the sake of your height.”

 

“Okay,” Nott bit her tongue till she tasted blood. “That’s a wonderful plan, Caleb.”

 

Caleb cursed a few times, searching and summoning out the wrong object (black powder, sulphur, and molasses) before pulling out a fist full of cotton ball sized ovals, he held them out to her, “Which one ?”

 

“I get to chose ?” Nott’s life was never her own. Only one other person had ever asked for her permission in anything, and that person hadn’t even believed in magic.

Her mitten disguised claw hovered over the many choices: the six cocoon shaped objects came in various colors and sizes. A small lime green oval caught her attention; she’d begun to hate the color green. She loathed the way it followed her everywhere. The obtrusive color brought out her horrendous yellow eyes. “Are these butterfly’s chrysalis ?”

 

Caleb gave her a perplexed look, and brushed it away to regain focus, “I’ve been saving them for emergencies--hard to get. I did some under the table work and the woman couldn’t pay with coin. She had a garden on her buildings roof.”

 

“I’d like the green one.” It was ironic, bitterly ironic.

 

Caleb held out the one of her choosing, and before Nott could ask anymore questions he started rubbing the chrysalis on her face and speaking a language she didn’t know. The skin of the oval cocoon rubbed off onto her, making her spit and blow away the bits that stuck to her lips.

 

“Please stay still or my concentration won’t hold,” Caleb’s hand felt painfully hot.

 

It was silly, and Nott wanted to shove him away again for playing this joke on her. This was a horrible lie; that magic could be anything more than a few fancy lights.

 

_Yeza was right._

 

Her doubt swirled in her stomach and she almost pitched last night’s dinner into the alley way, not too far from the experience Caleb had a few hours ago on the fire escape. There was a leaning sensation, fallings, and Caleb catching her in his arms.

 

The heat became too much, scratching ugly fiery heat.

 

She ripped off one of her mittens as a warm feeling clutched onto her hands, like holding a mug of hot drink without the handle.

 

Instead of a green claw, there was a smaller tanned hand with a patch of freckles. Nott reached for her ears next; instead of pointed and bat like protrusions there was the standard, rounded, big mouse ears that most half-lings had. The piercings her clan had forced on her were gone, the bite one of the older goblins had taken out of her left ear was gone, Nott was gone.

 

Good riddance, Nott thought.

 

_Yeza was wrong._

 

“Are you okay ? Did I burn you ? _Mein gott,_ I burned you. I haven’t used that spell in years--I’m so sorry.”  Nott felt him shaking and patting at non-existent burns on her arms and legs. In every story she’d read, the mage was destined to be evil and coarse. Mages were meant to devour young women’s hearts in the same ways soldiers threw rotten tomatoes at ugly girls.

 

“You’re incredible,” Nott whispered.

 

Caleb froze, debating a response, and then nonchalantly shrugged and went back to picking at the string on his fraying coat’s cuff. How could he shrug ? How could he pretend this wasn’t something that the whole world had said wasn’t real, Nott thought.

 

“Thank you,” Nott said. Any more words and she’d lose her control.

 

“That spell can be a shit of a merry go round.” Caleb patted her back and stood up, holding his hand out for her to take it. He watched her sway, teetering. “You’ll be back to your normal self soon, I promise. Also, don’t touch too much at it: you’ll be disoriented from the illusion and the actual transitory…..Nott, are you listening to me ?”

 

She stared into a puddle, the snow and water reflected back what she hadn’t believed possible. Nott pulled down the scarf around her face. She understood what Caleb meant, while there were no sharp teeth visible, Nott could still feel them. This body was an imitation.

 

“I’m going to do one for me too, okay ?”

 

She grabbed onto his wrist, painfully squeezing to get his attention, “You’ll still be the same Caleb, right ?”

 

“I promise,” he elaborately moved his hands, while the colors and light around him bent and shifted to the appearance of a blond haired man a little older than Caleb. Her nausea increased, this was strange to its core. “Still me, _liebchen._ Still me.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It is bright in here.” Was Caleb’s first response to the supermarket and it’s shiny linoleum floors. It’s palace of food and deep aisle  and lanes had seemed safer to steal from than a smaller grocer and fruit stand. Nott stood taller, this being her second time in the store. The exaggerated cartoon mascots and the four note tune played on the loud speaker only creeped her out a _little._

 

She could remember the grip of the men who’d caught her a few days ago, all their anger over something as small as a few tins of fish. Except, if it weren’t for them she wouldn’t have made all the right mistakes and finally met Caleb. Now, was the time for sweet revenge.

 

Nott caught her reflection in a glass fridge’s door and ducked her head down before more nausea set in.

 

 _“Ich gehöre nicht hierher_.” Was Caleb’s second reaction, whispered to himself and unknown to her, as Nott took him down an aisle of the highest shelves she’d ever seen, careful to avoid the smiling cashier who’d been responsible for her getting caught the first time.

 

She moved slowly, the disguise reflecting back at her from the floor with the promise that they were safe.

 

_High apothecary walls are bad for business all around, no matter human or halfling._

 

“How deep does your coat go ?” Nott yanked one of the flaps, searching for the infinite inner pocket she’d seen him use. The idea had come to her as she had stumbled alongside him into the store.

 

“Eighty pounds of material.” He said it in the same way one would comment on the color of the sky.

 

“Eighty pounds !?” She forced her shriek into a whisper. Nott pointed to a cereal box eye-level with her. “Could you put this in there ?”

 

Caleb shook his head, “Maybe a can of soup, fruit works too. It can’t be too wide.”

 

“Lets try it out,” Nott pointed in the direction of canned goods. “You pretend to browse and I’ll do the rest.”

 

“Do you have any attachment to this….ah,” Caleb, who'd wanted to go to a smaller shop, one still run by single people, waved his hand around when describing the store. “This grocer is not important to you is it ?”

When she’d been small, there’d been a fire in the woods. They villagers had run from their houses and market stalls to cooperate in the clean up. Nott had helped herself to what’d been left behind.

Nott shrugged. She didn’t add that if she had her way she’d be happy if every single supermarket, with it’s surpluses of never ending food and penchant to demand more and more from the smaller farming communities of Felderwin, ceased to exist. “This is a one time hit.”

Caleb looked around the store, snapped his fingers, and pointed. At the end of the aisle sat Frumpkin, licking his paw and confused why he’d been called to this strange place. “Go make a scene, have fun.” Caleb ordered his cat.

 

Nott could swear she’d seen the animal grin back at them.

 

She’d seen more magic today than she’d ever thought possible. It was familiar to her first hours in the city having to avoid jumping and shivering at the site of its immensity. “He’s not actually a cat ?”

 

Caleb watched his pet trot off, looking oddly prideful. “He’s a cat, but he’s also a fey. It’s been a long time since he’s been allowed this. Get ready to move when the signal goes.”

 

Nott didn’t have to ask what the signal was, the message of a heard, but unseen, mewling hiss and the scream of a cashier was clear enough.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

 

Yeza, back in the early days, had fretted that a supermarket might try to expand its reach in the Periphery Communities.

 

He’d feared that The Empire would outlaw him from making medicines in favor of products made by military doctors; mixtures that claimed legitimacy, but were entirely untested and better to serve as placebos than actual remedies.  A monopoly is what he’d called it.

 

_The Empire’s always been good to us…._

 

The truth was that Yeza had nothing to worry about. Felderwin was good for two things: keeping goblin hordes busy, and being forgotten unless they stopped producing crop quotas.

 

“How do you think they got these little stars on the apples ?” Nott held out one of the goods they’d snatched in their market sweep, an apple decorated with a seasonal painted designs on it's skin. The air was growing chilled and a blanket of dark clouds rested on the sky. Nott’s disguise was still up and a steadier pace was taken by both of them.

 

“It’s the same method they use make the fruit bigger: new technologies, new treaties with the Clovis Concord Islands for fruit.” Caleb was carrying approximately forty assorted canned goods, some packets of dried milk, noodles (that Nott grabbed out of the box and broke till they fit in his pocket), assorted fruits, and small boxed wines. Frumpkin nuzzled around his neck like a scarf.

 

Caleb reached into his pocket and handed Nott a can labeled in capital abrasive font, ‘Pineapple’.

 

“I’ve never had this before….Usually I shop small….local foods, you know ?” Said Caleb.

 

“The food card I left you doesn’t work at the supermarket ?”

 

“The ration gift card ? Oh, I suppose it would….” A powerful wind rolled down the street, the mass crowds had begun to diminish and the city looked familiar to Nott and her schedule.

 

Nott’s disguise was fading too, under her gloves she could feel fingers elongating back to claws, and rounded mouse ears becoming green and pointed again. This didn’t stop the bold idea that pushed at the back of her skull.

 

“Lets run one more errand.” Nott pulled Caleb towards a familiar street, and to the back exit of The Fletchling Moon Drop Nickelodeon and Theatre.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Caleb couldn’t explain how he knew the exact time of day; or why, without fail (even blindfolded), he could always find the cardinal North direction.

 

“ _Mein Sohn, der den Kompass geschluckt hat.”_ His mother used to say.

 

Except, if he looked back at the tangled threads of his fate and choices he couldn’t find the origin point for how he ended up sneaking in between red cushioned chairs in pitch darkness with a goblin. Never mind how this goblin and him had robbed a store, started living together, and avoiding the law.

 

He’d lived by a life of calculated risks. Taking Nott into his house had been for both of their safeties, stealing from the grocery store was for their survival, using magic (he reserved only for the nights when the moon was full and the world was resting) was for their disguises and success.

He circled around a few excuses and justifications for letting Nott convince him of going to a film house. Another place he didn’t belong, another place he used to stare at in awe as Eudowolf pulled him back towards the trolley to the academy.

Never mind that he felt endeared, instead of frustrated, when his shin hit another theater chair, and Nott took to guiding him to the balcony seating by holding his hand and guiding him through the infinite dark.

 

“Is this not a popular theater ?” Caleb was shocked to find no other spectators.

 

“A few times Crownsguards have come in here and tore up the lobby…..”

 

“ _Ja_ , I know that well.” The bookstore where he worked was another object of their ire. Really, every recreation store was a playground for the soldiers. The last safe places drying up fast, and Beau wondered why he spent his days hiding.

 

Nott bounced while guiding him, eagerly tugging and babbling, “I hope they show-”

 

A flash light interrupted her, and a disappointed figure a few steps ahead on the stairs lumbered forward, “I told you, the next time I caught you here I’d have to throw you out.”

It was a soft feminine voice, but nothing prepared Caleb for the site of it’s owner: a woman of an incredible height, long tangled black hair pulled into a messy bun, and the build of a person who could lift an oxen cart over her head.

Her tone was eastern in nature, something that sparked a hint of Nostalgia in him, and if they weren’t at an immediate threat of being twisted into pretzels he’d ask her where she was from. He might laugh, her gentle candor was misfitting in the same way her bellhop style clothes looked more like a costume than a uniform.

 

Nott's disguise was down, they’d broken in through the fire exit of a cinema, and they’d market swept a highly refined super store.

 

A few dozen lies clamored around Caleb’s for mind use, he considered that he’d been dragged along on this misadventure and his paranoia had been smothered by Nott’s attention and talking.

 

This goblin lady was dangerous.

 

“Wait, wait,”--Nott leapt at the opportunity to grab into his coat pocket, searching for something in the Pocket Dimension he’d created, he mentally linked himself to the jacket, an heirloom from his family and one of his first magical experiments--”Don’t kill us !”

 

In the limited light, he watched in frozen fear as Nott held out a bouquet of bent flowers she’d grabbed and placed in his coat without him realizing; like a poorly done magician’s trick.

 

The change of reaction on the woman was instantaneous, her face fell and her gentle voice now fit the body and person.

 

“Where did you get these ?” She seemed reverent, and took the flowers from Nott carefully.

 

“Oh you know, saw them in a shop and thought you needed some gussying up.” Nott said, clearly proud of her own diplomacy and quick thinking.

 

The woman thanked them both, and stared at Caleb for an impossibly long minute, “I’ll….set up the projector for you both….Just don’t sneak in here again, Nott....”

 

Caleb couldn’t believe that actually worked.

 

Caleb waited till he heard the door slam before turning to where he assumed Nott was beside him, “How many people know you’re a goblin ?”

 

“Only you !” Nott continued leading him to the balcony seating. “Yasha can’t see in the dark.”

 

“You’re on a first name basis ?!”

 

“No, no, I just saw her writing in her journal and guessed her name. She likes pressed flowers.”

 

Caleb was at a near loss for words, “Nott, do you ever feel like you’re life is a comedy of errors ?”

 

She didn’t get to answer him because a static crackle and click of cinema came to life just then. A monochromatic view of the world came into focus, a logo appeared with a fully fledged manticore roaring from the inside of a laurel wreath. Caleb looked over at Nott, her face illuminated by the lights of the screen.

 

She was entranced, more visibly than he was. Caleb touched at the bruising around his eye, taking one last attempt to understand how he’d ended up here, and then turned back to face the screen.

 

The film was in a foreign variation of Common. It was something coastal with a hint of being beyond Wildemount. The plot was hard to keep up with, on account of the more dialogue focused scenes being without subtitles. That didn’t stop Nott from flinching at the foam and puppet octopus-monster that attacked the protagonists, or tapping Caleb’s arm and pointing at the villain who could move things with his mind (Caleb didn’t mention that he could see the strings).

 

 _“Nous n'avons pas encore fini!”_ The masked figure, with rapier in hand, had corned the heroine and her friend in a dark forest of snow. His cape artificially billowed in the wind as a grand organ played background music scores.

 

“ _Tu es un monstre !”_ The heroine miraculously had a sword too. They clashed blades together, falling all over each other and dramatically declaring their hatred for one another.

 

“They’re totally going to fuck.” Nott whispered and Caleb choked on air before outwardly laughing. Nott’s smug look wasn’t lost on him.

 

The story paused and faded, Nott groaned as a new logo appeared, “Great, a newsreel intermission.”

 

An announcer narrated footage of wall construction, scripted scenes of diplomatic talks between Druid run governments in the forests outside. It wasn’t new to him, but it was strange seeing the moving black and white footage that came with it.

 

His stomach dropped, as a face he’d seen only in nightmares came into view. Of course there was no place untouched by the past. 

 

“ _Last week, Trent Ikithon of The Cerberus Assembly in a joint project with fellow member Dolan Tversky have started work on restorations of depleted magic. The co-op marks a unique change in Wildemount…..”_

 

There stood Ikithon, shaking hands, smiling, walking through the world unafraid and confident.

 

Caleb’s nails dug into the arm rests of his seat, memories threatening to spill over and out of the compartments he’d hidden them in.

 

_Disgraceful, you being chosen as a vessel of the arcane and unable to stand out of the mud._

 

_Everything was too bright in the asylum; too bright, too uniform, too loud, too quiet._

 

_You couldn’t rise above your parent’s filth._

 

_He’s here. He’s already here. He’ll never let me go. He’ll never let me go._

 

“Cay, I think I wanna head out.” Nott was pulling his sleeve shyly, looking distressed too.

 

Guilt pinched him. “I’m fine, we don’t need to go because of me. I’m fine. I’m sorry.”

 

“No, Caleb. I--”she looked back up at the screen. The second man, one who Caleb did not recognize, but was part of the Assembly, was smiling and shaking hands with Ikithon. The announcer had called him Dolan Tversky. “I’m tired and think it will be cold walking back.”

 

Caleb saw Nott’s quick glances up at the screen. He pieced together the obvious, “Do you know of that man ?”

 

The news reel droned on in the background, “ _King Dwendal celebrated his sixty eighth year with a parade in honor of-”_

 

“Nott,” Caleb repeated and debated whether he’d push her anymore. He’d done so already once before, and he’d told her significant portion of his own story. The dim theater light shone upon a nervous, twitching, and shy goblin lady. “Lets.... go back to the apartment.”

 

The relief on her face made him drop any lingering questions, despite the suspicion staying.

 

_You’re soft. You’re lenient. You’re weak._

 

While leaving out through the theater's fire exit, Caleb looked at Nott’s moccasins. Her shoes weren’t snow ready. “Would you like a piggyback ?”

 

Nott nodded twice, her smug smile replaced by something closer to gratitude and shyness. She was small and her tiny hands tangled into his hair, he held onto her ankles when she sat on his shoulders.

 

“This was a good day. Thank you, Nott.” It was strange, and different, and unsafe. Yet, it was good.

 

She hummed affirmation and leaned her chin atop his head, falling asleep on their way back.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some bonding and character development. Next chapter will probably be the equivalent of a bottle episode, haha. Thank you to everyone whose followed and supported this fic thus far. I recently started planning the ending and looking at the outline for it, and am happy to share this project.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Hints and indications of spoilers for episode 48 and beyond.

 

The Week of Winter, as Caleb would come to call it, started with a series of nightmares. Each unique and each constructed by Trent Ikithon.

 

_He was sixteen years old, running after Astrid and not wondering why they were chasing each other in the shadow of Ikithon’s estate. They weren’t allowed outside without a guard. They were rarely let outside at all without the purpose of keeping up happy appearances._

 

_He hadn’t thought anything of it. No, he kept his focus on his best friend. One of the few friends he’d been able to make at home and then keep at the academy. Green grass is going to stain the hem of his pants; Ikithon will be furious._

 

_“Phillip, you’re_ _schleppend !” Astrid called behind her shoulder, fast enough that he doesn’t see her lips move, but hears the words._

 

_“Phillip ?” He’d been running behind her for years, only stopping to rest his hands on his knees and keeling over to catch his breath. “Where did that nickname come from ?”_

 

_He continued giving chase, and she mocked him in a dozen names: ‘Adon, you’re falling behind’, ‘Gentry, you’ll never catch me’, ‘Magnus, come find me’, ‘Lemound; hurry, hurry, hurry !”_

 

_He fell into mud, thick and blackening, the sky darkening above him. The air and light that was once playful became confusing, “Who are you calling to ?”_

 

_She’d stood above him now, maliciously smiling. Her foot came forward and connected with his ribs, spraying mud over his eyes and nose._

 

_“Please,” He sputtered and coughed, trying to lift himself off the ground. The sole of her boot connected with his spine, sending him back into the dirt. “Astrid, who are you calling ?”_

 

_“Wie kann ich meine Liebe verfolgen, wenn sich ihr Name ändert wie die Gesichter des Mondes?”_

 

_He dared to lift his head, Ikithon watched the scene play out impassively from a foot, than a inch, than a mile away. He was too close, too far, but always near and watching. His eyes made it hard to speak or think, no magic more powerful than that._

 

_“Astrid, please. Astrid, marry me. Astrid-”_

 

_“And where would we go, Klaus ?” Astrid was seventeen years old when he saw her last, before they took him away, and before he forgot what it felt like to have a cheap and beloved ring on his finger; a ring that meant even through the trials of their master that they were bound._

 

_“I made a friend.” His defense caused her to laugh._

 

_“You don’t make friends.”_

 

_He was close to arguing, and would have if Nott hadn’t walked into the clearing with her claws twisted in her dress, as confused and lost as him. Her scarf was askew, her shoes untied, and mask falling off. Someone had ripped her dress sleeve._

 

_Someone had hurt her._

 

_Astrid’s face morphed into disgust, “You’re friends with a kobold witchel ? It’s a fucking goblin ?!”_

 

_“She’s different-”_

 

_He tried to get up, to lift himself from the mud and do anything.  He stumbled over leaves and twigs, then glass and garbage. He’d moved through thick darkness, and over to Nott. She kicked her small green legs back and forth atop a red cushioned chair._

 

_“The film’s about to start, Peter.” Nott had dressed herself in a village girl’s outfit, something from a periphery community with it’s lace and dull brown colors._

 

_“That’s not my name.”_

 

_“Your name is War Mage ?” Nott dug her fist into a colorful popcorn bucket filled with gemstones. She smacked her her teeth against fist of them like a happy dragon._

 

_“That’s not my name, either.”_

 

_“Shut up, War Mage, I can’t hear the king.”_

 

_A spotlight or something of the variety shone behind him, his shadow covered Nott partially, but she seemed to not be concerned. She lazily pointed behind him, and when his foot turned to position himself to face what she pointed at, the wind was knocked out of his body._

 

_A hand of gigantic proportions squeezed the frail breaths out, his ribs followed suit with cracks. Ikithon, a figment of the celluloid cinema had reached out of the screen and was now shaking him up and down. Black and white pulsating light, mixed with acalate vinegar acetate, choked him similarly to the mud._

 

_“King Dwendal celebrated the successful eradication of the Periphery Communities-” The film cracked and burned, a hole of fire and chemical ruining the film, and splashing burns into Caleb’s body._

 

_Who is Caleb ? He thought._

 

_“That’s not my name…..” It was becoming difficult to breath again.._

 

_He looked down at Nott, another woman had taken a seat beside her and they were chatting._

 

_“Do you know her ?” He yelled, the hand squeezed again in response._

 

_“No,” Nott answered, still indifferent to her friend’s suffering in front of her and the monstrocity coming out of the screen. “You do, though. Can’t you remember the woman who named you ?”_

 

_He reached into his pocket to get his journal, to plan, to try and find a solution to her question. The liquid film oozed, dropping him and the pile of ink onto a bench against a wall of a library, or study, or a tomb of books._

_His journal had many doodles, little creatures and stick legged horses. In his down time he’d begun altering Prestidigitation’s relationship to Enchantment, making his doodles stand up from the page as miniscule creatures that could move to and fro. He’d built a fence for farmed rabbits, a small girl with a toy ball to chase, and a cave full of goblins and kobolds._

 

_The creatures jumped to and fro, back and forth. There was an embedded safety in the worlds he made up._

 

_Trent Ikithon didn’t feel the same enthusiasm. He smiled when his pupil obeyed, performed, and resisted the urge to flinch or cry out, but this activity was frivolous. It was the type of sideshow trick for a Periphery Community child who’d learned of magic yesterday._

 

_“What have you made here ?”_

 

_“Nothing of concern.” He wasn’t fast enough to hide his journal. Never fast enough. Clever, but never enough._

 

_“Nothing of concern ? That can’t be true. You’ve built them such nice hovels. If you look close enough you can see Blumenthal.”_

 

_“Nothing of concern.” He repeated. They weren’t meant to love boldly without superior’s permission. You loved the budding Empire, you loved the safety of its isolation from the outside world. You thanked the collective city-state Empire for keeping you safe from the murderers and free-range monsters all the way to Taldorei and the Wild Woods._

 

_“You’re a terrible liar, Bren….”_

 

_Bren. Bren. Bren. Bren. Bren._

 

_Who is Bren ?_

 

_He was standing in front of the class for the first time and trying not to panic. They don’t know him, and how could they ? Trent had made sure to keep him hidden during the lavish political get togethers held in his estate._

 

_The woman was there too; he never learned her name, but he’d remember her always as the one who saved him. Not her god, not any of the gods came to save him. It was her. She’d been the one: she undid the straps that held him to the machines, filled out the paper-work, laid her hands onto him to take away the clouds._

 

_“I would have thought you’d flee from this country” She looked down at her hands, wringing them together. To Caleb, those hands saved him and here he caused their discontent._

 

And when Caleb woke up in the morning, his goblin friend and cat by his side, he rubbed his face and looked out the window to see blankets of infinite snow with no sign of stopping.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

“Did you have any more nightmares ?” Nott, the real one, and not the person Caleb’s mind fabricated for him with indifference and sing-songy strangeness, sat on his counter and stared towards one of the windows he’d let remain without blinds.

 

She’d been absolutely right and sensed the impossible and large snow storm that struck the city. If Ophelia and her gang, alongside Astrid, was coming to get him, then they’d have to wait at least five days, maybe a week.

 

The Allfields University hadn’t even called him.

 

“A few bad dreams, nothing terrible.” It was half a truth. A few dreams implied one of two. Similar to a fleeting thing that one remembers three days later, and not upon waking up sweating and shivering.

 

“You’re a very good liar, Caleb.”

 

He was dead after this, after the snow cleared there’d be no hiding or fleeing. It was over for him.

 

“Why do you say that ?” But still he lived, and was eating stolen breakfast with a goblin swaddled in three of his blankets. Nott had a sage appearance while wrapped in a hooded toga fashion. Another endearing feature, like she belonged amongst his world of anachronistic magic.

 

Ikithon would burn all of his possessions, since he was a traitor. Or maybe they’d keep some of them as evidence.

 

“Your talk is all there and you look me right in eyes,” Nott took a moment to look back out the kitchen window, while the wind whined and howled. “I don’t know, it’s like you’re too smooth when you lie.”

 

“No one’s ever told me that.” He’d been trained to keep his eyes forward, always staring towards the bridge of an individual's nose.

 

“Hm, hm, hm,” Nott hummed and happily looked out the window. “Thank you again, Caleb.”

 

“Oatmeal isn't that hard to make.”

 

“No, I mean for...everything.” She waved a claw around at him, the apartment, the floating lights he’d kept up for her because of the darkness of the snow outside. Yes, this Nott is real and not like the one in my dreams, Caleb realized. He looked back out at the snow, sheets upon sheets of it. If she’d had still been in the box she would have-

 

“Do you celebrate Eve’s End ?” Nott manueved to the window, resting her chin on her crossed arms. She was shaking less, cowering fewer times when he’d move or walk around. Her illness passing, but the relapsing and time in between drinking was still affecting her.

 

He wasn’t stupid, and she was a poor at hiding it. The smell of fermentation in his copper bathtub served as the final piece in his deduction. Caleb wondered how early she’d started drinking, how old she was, how long she’d been alone. If they were going to be stuck in doors for a week, there were certain topics that couldn’t be avoided: for _both_ of them.

 

“Well, I had to. If Blumenthal wanted to stay part of the Empire’s collective…..Do goblins celebrate Eve’s End ?” It was illegal for their village to celebrate anything else. It had been the one contention between his mother and father about The Empire; no yelling of course, but hushed voices and the dropping of the subject all together. His mother had one early morning pulled out a noise maker, something from a holiday she’d celebrated as a child where her family had told stories of a king driven mad by his unhappy subjects who’d taken to the streets with their instruments.

 

In the end he’d used it as further proof that Blumenthal was a lost cause.

 

“Eve’s End is expensive.” Nott picked at the chipping paint on the windowsill.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

 

Nott watched Caleb  translating spells, watched him finish up his task by lifting a floorboard and storing the illegal items underneath.

Her life had become stranger than it was ever meant to be.

 

When they’d returned from the cinema she’d completely forgotten Yeza’s notes and the mess in the bathroom. Caleb hadn’t seen her stuff them into her coat, as she’d slipped them in undetected when he’d drained the tub.

 

The alcoholism and itch was a difficult enough subject to explain (he’d caught on to it...probably knew it from the moment he picked her up off his doorstep).

 

“How is your heart rate ?” Caleb asked her while shuffling through his hand of cards. He’d dug through a box and pulled them out before awkwardly asking her to play a hand of a game called Crick Queen’s Call.

A coffee tray with lion's paws would venture back and forth at Caleb’s summoning. When they wanted another hot drink or rice cake it would walk it's way towards them. It had taken Nott a while to realize it, but when Caleb was in his apartment, the rooms _responded_ to him. It was like he’d carved out a hollow to fit all of his spilling magic. As a result, tea kettles moved on their own, a drab painting of a sad lady (Caleb had haphazardly left it in a packing box) moved her eyes and blinked back tears. She wasn’t positive, but she also thought she’d seen in the corner of her eye a silver wire around the length of the room.

 

The house was Caleb’s and it was him. Not too different from Yeza’s laboratory, but Yeza’s laboratory didn’t breath in tandem with him. When Nott was alone in Yeza’s lab it didn’t feel lifeless; it was only a normal lab though. When Caleb had been out of his home yesterday, the atmosphere had withered and the apartment had seemingly turned against her (or maybe that was the lack of booze).

 

“My heart rate ?” Nott tried to deduce a poker face from Caleb, he’d explained the rules and she wasn’t brave enough to ask for him to do it again.

 

“Yes, when people go dry they have tremors and heart rate spikes.”

 

“You’re so smart.”

 

Caleb rolled his eyes, and threw down three cards, “Crick’s flush.”

 

“Go fish !” She and Yeza had never exactly had time to do much besides keep up the shop, keep her hidden, or keep the soldiers around their village happy with potions and goods.

 

“Maybe we should play another game….”

 

“What even is a Crick ?” The playing cards were decorated with humble figures of human jacks, spades, and the usual systems. She realized this might be the simplest and most non-magical object in Caleb’s house.

 

Caleb shrugged a little, and went through the motions of finding his answer for her. It was strange; she’d never understood people well, but with Caleb he had an abundance of visual cues for her to pick up on. He rubbed his bandages when nervous, crossed his arms to hug himself when thinking, encouraged Frumpkin to go to her when he wanted to comfort her, and when he was happy he wrestled a smile and lost every time.  

 

“A Crick is the term for….” He rubbed the back of his neck to explain, but the words trailed off. Frumpkin and him, in an instant unison, turned their heads to the door. “Someone is...moving around downstairs.”

 

Nott had a snippy remark that she dropped upon hearing an excited pitter-patter up the stairs, bustling movement, and the smell of four new bodies entering and moving around. Caleb waved his hands in a clockwise motion, dispelling the orbs, and the room went dark.

 

_It must be hard for him...Not seeing in darkness._

 

Nott held her breath and studied Caleb’s neutral expression. They were both skilled at being quiet, more features that linked them together. Feet clamoured up the stairs outside, then a loud knocking had Frumpkin duck for cover under the couch.

 

“Hi ! It’s us !” The choppy and singing voice was back. “It’s so cold outside, and we moved in, and I have tea and need to borrow your stove. Oh, oh, oh  and happy Eve’s End. I don’t celebrate that, but a lot of people here do. ”

 

The woman named Jester knocked on their door for a solid stressful minute and a half, before another coy voice with an arrogant tone called after her. Caleb let out a long sigh afterwards.

 

“You weren’t lying--that woman is very much.”

 

Nott rubbed her arms, the apartment in the dark hadn’t bothered her before, but with the oppressive snow outside she felt the severity of what could have been. There was no way she would have survived out there.

She could remember harsh winters, terrible seasons where the goblin’s became bold and desperate. Her father used to drink enough to slur three letter words and mistake living family members for dead flings and love interests. He’d practiced taking shots at goblins who’d-

 

_No, no, that’s not you. That’s not you._

 

“Are- Is everything okay ?” Caleb’s eyes were drawn to her bandaged hands. Her’s were eerily similar to his. The biggest difference being his covered arcane symbols, and magical carvings. Her’s were just meant to cover everything.

 

“I really hate that box on your counter.” It was the magical pillbox the Ophelia woman had slipped into Caleb’s pocket before running. Caleb had told Nott about his background, and she had seen the objects he’d hidden under his couch; yet, she still couldn’t place him amongst _that_ world. His fidgety motions when they’d been together outside, alongside his current over-arching paranoia felt misplaced. “Can’t we throw it down the garbage chute ?”

 

“We could.” Caleb shuffled the deck of cards in a motion that indicated practice and precision, avoiding his new bandage’s adhesive sticking to the faces of the queens and kings.

 

“Yes, we could throw it away and then you’d stop staring at it.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

She didn’t understand, the bruise around his eye should have been torment enough. The box, and it’s strange abilities, was an added chain that needed to be abandoned.

Nott waited, and waited, and finally realized that she’d been duped into a silent trap. She bit the inside of her lip, moving towards the counter to take matters into her control.

 

_This whole city can go to hell._ Nott earnestly grabbed the box, feeling triumphant till she felt sharpness slice into her skin.

A loud curse erupted in a mixture of halfling and goblin as she dropped the box back to the floor, cradling her bleeding hand.

 

“Nott, The Brave !” Caleb’s reflexes being slower than her’s had allowed Nott the moment to grab the box. He cradled her bleeding hands and shushed a few times while getting a rag to stop the bleeding.

 

“It fucking bit me !”

 

“It’s an arcane box, it fuels itself off of another’s energy-”

 

“You didn’t say it was gonna fuck me like that !”

 

“I didn’t know you were going to just grab at it !” Caleb was cursing under his breath too in conjunction to Nott. “It’s partially sentient and sniffs out…” Caleb’s swearing and motions stilled, he went deathly still just as he had when Jester, the neighbor had knocked on their door.

 

He didn’t pick up the box; no, he levitated it. The box had two glowing symbols, whereas it had been dull before. Irritation flashed through Nott, irritation at being so stupid, and her bleeding hand and lack of booze to dull the edges she kept bumping into.

 

“I broke it, didn’t I ?” This wasn’t too different from her time in the lab, broken glass everywhere while Yeza tried to cover half of her face with a rag to protect from the fumes. There had always been _that man_ to give Yeza a pitying look when she failed.

 

Caleb didn’t seem disappointed or angry; he looked sad ? Potentially shocked ? He held the levitating box towards her, “You never knew ?”

 

\-------------------------------------

 

Nott couldn’t tell him much. She’d called him a liar and began to raise her high pitched, scratchy voice to a shout. He’d leaned forward to hold her shoulder, uncertain of what to do on account that magic for so much of his life had been considered sacred and sought after.

 

“I have to leave.”

 

Her firm conclusion surprisingly stung him, and while he couldn’t stop her the snow would.

 

Or the neighbor would too.

 

“Are you guys having a fight in there ?” The knocking that had scared Nott and him earlier was back alongside the cheerful person who came with it. “You can’t pretend you aren’t here.” The speaker sounded proud of themself, elongating the word ‘here’ to indicate that Nott and Caleb had been discovered.

 

Caleb cleared his throat, Nott who’d been full of angry fear had a pathetic look on her face alongside dropping green ears. “Everything is fine, sorry for the noise. I had a record playing…” He called through the door: happy that the neighbor couldn’t see him or see that he was in no position to be spending money on a gramophone player.

 

“I have a gramophone too,” He could hear the neighbor leaning against the door, making the wood creak and shudder. “We could have a doo wop together ? Maybe, hm, hm, hm-”

 

Caleb felt his face flush: Nott had said her name was Jester and shown him the card she’d left. He motioned for Nott to hide and when he was certain she was under the couch he opened the door.

 

He came face to face with a personification of the loud voice, but it was still not what he expected: blue skin, a puffy white sundress (despite it being winter), round eyes with pupils like a goat, ram’s horns mashed together on a head of excessively curly hair, and a too wide smile that mimicked the mood of a thick blue tail with an arrow head tip at the end. She was small too, bigger than Nott of course, but the top of her head could only reach Caleb’s shoulder.

 

“Woah, you need a bath,” she gave him a once over and then pinched her nose. “Are the pipes in your flat frozen ?”

 

“I just met you.” This woman was a tiefling, like Ophelia Mardun, but that is where their similarities ended. Ophelia had been grey, uniformed, and imposing. Mardun had radiated her infernal bloodline in sharp and thin statues that were mimicked by her horns.

 

His new neighbor Jester looked frankly adorable, rounded and soft like a lamb.

 

“I’m Jester,” He could read mischief in her smile, that was the most apparent aspect of her. “Why did you take the numbers off your door ?”

 

“I’m Caleb...My name is Caleb Widogast.”

 

Jester waited for him to tell her his reasoning for not having a welcome mat or a door number. Caleb waited for her to go back to her apartment across the hall. He was standing in front of his door, taller than her and certain to not let her snoop. She stood on her tip-toes and gasped, effectively giving Caleb a heart attack before realizing she was pointing at Frumpkin, who came over and purred at her legs.

 

“We aren’t supposed to have pets here, Cayleb !”

 

He let out a silent breath of relief and allowed the excited tiefling woman to enter a monologue: she had to leave her dog back home (a lucky break for him. Ikithon’s hounds and their cruel barks and bites hadn't faded from his memory); how her ‘mama’ missed her so much; how her best friends Fjord and Molly were helping her out; how she loved the city but that the snow was ‘gross and ugly’ when it was dirtied. He had Frumpkin (who Jester was calling ‘Lumpy’)  jump into her arms to appease her.

 

After twenty minutes or so she started to move back towards her apartment, but not before destroying any hopes he had of not being bothered.

 

“You and your sister should so totally come over tomorrow; the snow is gonna be so, so, so bad and I’m gonna have a picnic indoors ! Bring your gramophone too !”

 

“I don’t have a sister.” Caleb stared at the bridge of her nose.

 

“Yeah you do. I saw you carrying her on your shoulders yesterday.”

 

_Scheisse._

 

“Bye, Cayleb. See ya’ !” She left him standing in the hallway like an idiot, wringing his hands together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late posting and minor radio silence on this project. I knew I wanted to introduce more Jester at this point, but wasn't entirely certain how to do so. I've been thinking of doing another Caleb and Nott one shot fic, while simultaneously working on a few other stories. It's a blessing and a curse. I'm excited for more Mighty Nein group antics in the next few chapters....Also exploring Nott's backstory and the fact that she does have arcane abilities.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: This fic has big spoilers for both Caleb and Nott's backstories.

“You’ll die.” Caleb had responded to her reasoning for leaving with the same argument. It was hardly an argument in actuality; it was more along the lines of a pathetic murmur. “You could wait to leave when the snow clears.”

 

He kept hanging around as she re-shoved her same four possessions into one of her sacks--stalling, buying time. His magic, his house, his cat. He’d infected her with it and she could smell it all over. In a sudden burst of further frustration, Nott lifted the sweater Caleb had loaned her over her head, her ears getting caught in the neck hole. 

 

“Let me help you,” Caleb started towards her, but stopped with his hands raised apologetically. She’d hissed at him in warning. “ _Entschuldigung..._ I’m sorry. I am sorry.”

 

“I’m not helpless !” Nott threw down her tote bag, not enough alcohol in her system and a sweater halff snagged across her ears. 

 

“You’re not helpless.” Caleb affirmed. 

 

“But I’m a joke to you.” That was the only explanation. He’d lied and told her she had magic. If it _was_ a lie then she’d be safe, and not have to accept a long and arduous list of events that had followed her for months, almost a year. 

 

“You’re not a joke.” Caleb slowly came forward, she flinched as he started to get the sweater untangled from her ears. “You are funny, _ja_. But you are not a joke. In the time I’ve known you I’d say you are tricky, and also sharp. You are not a joke.”

 

_He’s not lying._

 

“I’m sorry I hissed at you.”

 

“Hm,” Caleb shrugged. “Water under a bridge.” 

 

“I got scared is all.” What had she been thinking ? He’d been right as well, to go out into the snow for her would be a death sentence. “All of this magic and . You’re real good at it too.”

 

“I didn’t know it made you uncomfortable. Is that it ?”

 

 _It’s so much more,_ Nott thought. 

 

“You’d- It’s nothing.” She couldn’t be sure he’d believe her. If Nott was being honest, she didn’t truly believe it herself. 

 

“Try me. Nott, The Brave, I was a student first and a soldier. Then I was an indentured servant to a man who could alter memories enough to make me believe the same people who’d fed me and clothed me could be terrorists. I-” He stammered and ran a hand through his hair, trying to find his train of thought. “You don’t have to explain. The door is open, but you don’t have to.” 

 

 She’d run from Yeza, but still he haunted her. He haunted in his chemical equations and letters, in the wonders of the city that he’d always wanted to enjoy, and in the shy wizard she’d found, “I feel like there’s a chain around me, there’s this chain and if I let go then who will I even be.”

 

“You will be my friend.” Caleb responded, earnestly. She couldn’t fathom how he could afford to give so much trust and acceptance to those around him, but not himself. 

 

Or maybe she was special. It was weird to think of herself as special to someone. 

 

“Caleb, I’ve been lying to you.”

 

He didn’t say anything. She expected a hint of anger, shock, or just general confusion. Instead, he looked sad for her. 

 

“I run it over in my head. But, it wasn’t till’ I met you and saw your magic that I really began to believe it. I’m Nott, The Brave...In a way. I- I used to go by someone else though. For a long time I was Veth, the halfling girl.”

 

Here was the moment where he’d turn on here. Nott waited, holding her breath.

 

Caleb Widogast, strange and full of surprises, nodded and responded with a statement that sent Nott reeling: “It was that man. Your face--it’s the same from when he was on the screen at the theater.”

 

Hadn’t they both had a conversation like this a few days ago ? With Nott understanding and letting him know that the person he’d been before was both the same, and different. It hadn’t been his fault. It hadn’t been _her_ fault. 

 

“I had a childhood; I lived in a Periphery farming community; I even got married recently.”

 

Yeza and her met on a gross summer day, the hot beating sun making Felderwin’s dust roads cling to a rowdy group of farmer children daring each other to do stupid feats of bravery: touch Old Edith’s house, eat one of the black beetles that lingered on the leaves--even kiss Veth. 

 

She’d hated baths, talked too much, didn’t have the sense to stop while she was ahead. 

 

Veth was also hungry. A bad combination for a poor girl living in a village that hoarded it’s food to ship to their imperial masters. Her itchy fingers had earned many broom handles bashed against her head. 

 

Except Yeza, who smelled sometimes too, who talked too little--except about his chemistry set--had kissed her. He’d make a comment about how the dark hairs on her arm were pretty (hair that she hated), or save unwanted vials from the apothecary center for her collections.  

 

They’d just started setting up his shop, producing goods when Tversky had come along. 

 

_Does your wife always speak her mind so freely ?_

 

“I don’t know much about The Empire and the city-states...But they were really interested in Yeza. He’s a brilliant man, chemistry, alchemy, crop growth. The works.”

 

“Yeza is a nice name.” Caleb’s voice wasn’t louder than a whisper. 

 

“He’d love to meet you.” Nott could remember Yeza’s whole hearted attempts to place himself in the eyes of their home and people. Veth had given up a long time ago with making friends, her life was with Yeza and book-keeping for the apothecary. If she stayed in the lower cellars she couldn’t go out and steal, or drink, or fall into the habits she’d been forced to inherit. “Tversky was excited for Yeza to start working on a project...An enhancer, I think-”

 

Her memories are choppy, they were told so little and Tversky always made a point of excluding Veth from the proceedings. 

 

_Till he didn’t._

 

Caleb began to rub his arms, his eyes looking into the hardwood like he could read the rest of her story, but he remained silent. When he’d told her his background, she’d asked a lot and coaxed it from him. He wasn’t doing much of the work for her. Leaving the story in her own hands. 

 

Nott continued; this was where it got messy, “Yezza worked so hard; he really tried, Caleb.”

 

It wasn’t enough: long hours, lost clients in town, their assets devoted to getting this man what he demanded. They’d been promised a better life, a fresh start. Veth and Yeza had started thinking of a child even. But, of course, what world would they bring their son into ? He’d spend his life under the duress of a Periphery Community. 

 

“Tversky I think realized we weren’t making the deadlines and progress he wanted,” Veth couldn’t understand what the rush was. Magic wasn’t even real. A potion to enhance something that didn’t exist was pointless. “One night I was out back, dumping the garbage out...I didn’t see who grabbed me. I fought and ran, but they got me anyway. It’s funny, sorta. I never thought of myself as leverage for anything. Who would want Veth around, anyway. I’m not smart, I’m not pretty--I’m just Nott.” 

 

She’d ended up throwing acid into the face of one of Tversky’s lab technicians. That momentary victory hadn’t saved her. Tversky didn’t even talk or look at her, she’d been only a bargaining chip. Terror had been the only thing she’d known as the mage dunked her into the depths of the water basin. 

 

Terror, terror, and then upon awakening confusion. They’d re-made her with their magic, and the image they’d use was of their enemy, the monster who lived in the woods. A creature. Veth died. Veth was dead and Nott was left behind. 

 

Caleb spoke up, but only after he received non-verbal permission from Nott, “Your escaped them ?”

 

“Tversky went to go check up on Yeza. House-wives aren’t supposed to be able to scale walls and see in the dark.” It was the same way she’d gotten into the city, sewers and aqueducts forgotten to time and determined as only good for thieves and liars. Her new body was wrong, abhorrent and terrible--but not without its uses. “I couldn’t tell Yeza who I really was. I tried staying with him in our houses cellar. I even tried my hand at living with the goblins in the woods. I took his documents, and I came here, and I-”

 

When did the non-descriptive dungeon of mages blur into her own house cellar ? Goblins were feared, for good reason too. Yeza’s own parents hadn’t lived to see their wedding because of creatures picking off community’s vulnerable as a result of the Empire’s carelessness. 

 

Her dreams included the vast mix and mess of her background. 

 

She ran out of words then. She’d fled in hopes of giving Yeza’s documents to someone who could perfect them, or at least see Tversky was insane. The idea had seemed wonderful at the time of her fleeing into the night, leaving behind the lies she told Yeza and the filthy goblin clan too. 

 

_You were an ugly goblin and he still helped you...Even when you told him you were Veth’s friend. Somehow he let you stay. He was lonely and desperate. He thought his only friend and wife was dead, and he took you in._

 

Her grand mission had started to look foolish in the face of the unfamiliar city and it’s cruel individuals. 

 

“You were Veth ?” Caleb’s voice cracked. 

 

“I was.”

 

“I was Bren Aldric Ermendrud.” 

 

Nott placed her claw on Caleb’s knee. “That was who you were in the picture ?”

 

He squinted in confusion, but then pieced together what she meant, “Yes, and that was my arcane focuser. It was one of three things they kept for me in the asylum.”

 

Asylums, mages, conspiracies, governments. Goblins and wizards too. 

 

Nott could hear Yeza’s squeaky sweet voice in her memory saying, _“Gosh, that’s a lot.”_

 

\------------------------------------------------------------

 

He propped Nott--Veth--against the couch. She didn’t argue when he handed her a coat too big for her form, or opened the blinds enough so she could see the snow from where she leaned her head back and stared at nothing deeply. 

 

Caleb didn’t want to believe in destiny. If destiny was real then that meant that the cruel path he’d walked hadn’t even been of his own choosing. The pain and the torment was his fault, he’d been fooled and been formed into a monster because he was disgusting and selfish. To be helpless against a bigger force that had complete control over him ? That was Ikithon on a cosmic scale. 

 

That couldn’t be destiny. His friend being violently altered couldn’t be destiny. 

 

And yet his friend, no, his _family_ had found him. Nott, or Veth--or whoever she was--had found him. The mages of the Dwindalian empire had cut scars into their lives that matched. 

  


“We have a bit of cherry wine if you want some ?” Caleb offered to Nott, unsure of what to do. 

 

“It’s real, right ?” 

 

He could remember his mother, after his Arcane Pliability Test, asking the men and women from the Cerberus Assembly if he was sick. She wondered if this was the reason their son was frail, a bit off, but beloved nonetheless. The representatives had laughed, thinking that his family’s superstition was something to be mocked. Of course to the Assembly magic was coveted, harnessed, and viable. 

 

To everyone else it was something mythical and scary. 

 

“You are real. Yes, you are you. And you are safe here.” 

  


_How can you be sure ? The snow might only last four more days._

 

“You’re a really good liar, Caleb.” Nott stared off into the snow from the safety of his couch. She wasn’t leaving. She’d chosen to stay in the hopes of a path towards something better. 

 

He climbed onto the couch next to her, and they curled up together. He’d thought the part of him that couldn’t help comforting broken reflections was dead. Ikithon was supposed to make sure of that. 

 

“I will look at your husband’s letters and we will find a way.”

  


Nott hummed and buried her head into his abdomen, “First do we deal with Jester ?”

 

“That woman across the hall scares me.”

 

Nott snorted, “She can’t be that bad.”

 

Trent Ikithon had only ever seen a weapon of destruction, and as Caleb conceptualized what had happened to her, he found himself renewing an age old fear in Ikithon, Tversky, and the whole lot of Assembly mages. 

 

Renewed fear, and also renewed _hatred_. 

 

He didn’t believe in much. God’s and deities existed, but he didn’t rely on them. He morbidly thought that many of them were probably laughing at him. His arcane science was as close as he could get to greater hopes, to the bigger picture. 

 

And the Assembly was tainting that: collecting magic users for sport and slavery, war machines, black-mailing a Periphery Community wife and husband because they could. It was subversion of one of the few things Caleb loved. Ikithon had told Bren he was to be special, to be chosen for greater world saving. Was that ever true ? Or did Ikithon do what he did, solely because he could--because he could get away with it. 

 

For the first time since his youth, he almost didn’t want to hide. He couldn’t let them continue on. He couldn’t let it happen to anyone else. 

 

_But where does she fit in all this ?_

 

“We could just stay here for the rest of our lives ?” Nott suggested. 

 

“Yes, and maybe the snow will stay forever.”

 

“The snow is gross.” She’d been alone in her box, running, cold. 

 

He could envision himself freshly out of the asylum with one incantation bowl, a photograph, and a diamond (that was essentially worthless because who would buy a military gemstone off of him). 

 

“Had anyone ever tested you for arcane traces ? Bloodline connections ? Clerical destiny ? Anything at all ?” Sloppiness wasn’t characteristic of the Assembly on account that they were _desperate_ to hone any magic they could. “They did not think of Felderwin ?”

 

“Nobody thinks of Felderwin, nobody ever thought of me before Yeza and before Tversky thought I’d be good for their plan.” Nott could blatantly say painful statements, treat them as fact, and accept them. She ignored the way he shook his head to deny her claim, but he also understood how one’s beliefs could overpower whatever another friend attempted to convey. “They might not have let me into your fancy school even if they’d known I had magic.”

 

There was another terrible truth: at least Caleb and his friends had been allowed an education. Most of the other students around them--children of olden royals-- were blessed without indentures and debts to pay off. A young, penniless Veth would have been taken away from her home and placed in the care of someone like Tversky or Ikithon. Caleb shuddered at the thought of someone carving glyphs into her arms, subjecting her to torture and slavery. 

 

And maybe an asylum. There were always asylums for magic users who didn’t fit right. 

 

“You could still learn ?” His suggestion would have been mocked by every single professor and student at the Soltryce Academy. 

 

_They can go to hell._

 

“Still learn how to what ?” She played dumb and started to stare back out the window.

 

“If you want to learn. I know you- I see how you enjoy the lights. I’d be willing to share with you these arts, but only if you wanted to. I understand maybe, you not wanting to after what that mage did. I understand that. Maybe it could help to know these skills so we can both work on your husbands work. We could work on it together and you know him better.”

  


“You’re nothing like him.” 

 

“That man in the City State of Rexxentrum, and the man who scarred you are still my people--nevertheless.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------

She meant it. They were his people--perhaps. But he was Caleb, and he was not them. There were actions he’d taken under the tutelage of terrible people, and from what she could guess some of them were ruthless and cruel. Yet, he’d passed her button test on the fire escape and saved her from the cold. He played the part well, degrading himself and accepting that he must be miserable and callous. He couldn’t keep it up around her, and Nott imagined he wouldn’t be able to if he were surrounded by others in his life. 

 

Yeza would love him, surely. Caleb could be like their son. Already she was thinking of seeing Yeza again, a thought she hadn’t had in a long time. 

 

Caleb placed a shallow, clay bowl next to a mortar and pestle; a long bird’s feather, moldy pastry crumbs, a copper wire, an empty matchbook, a small jar of pickled fish, red clay, and a bit of root. 

 

“This looks like junk.” 

 

“You and every registered magic user would agree.” Caleb kept each item equidistant apart. Perfect, orderly, strange. 

 

“Where did you get this ?” Nott couldn’t believe this was happening, like an olden fairy tale about the men and women who went into the woods to sacrifice fair maidens. 

 

“Superstitions are strong everywhere. The people I work for don’t know what to pay me with and worry I’ll come for their first born. People used to excuse my mother’s people of poisoning wells and causing--you know--plagues, illnesses. One woman was certain I was going to eat her heart--it happens a lot and it will get happening as long as the world goes on like this.” He smiled, but it was taut and sad. 

 

“Did you ?”

 

“Did I what ?”

 

“Oh my god, you’re going to eat my heart.” Nott mock clutched at her shirt. 

 

He rolled his eyes, “I’m not interested in eating your heart.”

 

“My heart’s not good enough for you ?!” 

 

“Stop stalling.” Caleb held his hand out to her, she took it and fidgeted under the intense idea that nothing would happen. “When I first began my study I was drawn to the feather, but ah, was redirected to the matchbook--I’m not articulating this correctly. We didn’t use objects per say. It was more official with sigils for the schools of magic. I’ve always believed-”

 

“The wire is cool.”

 

“The wire is used mainly in my field--my current strongest practice--of the arcane: transmutation.”

 

Nott twisted it around her hands, she held onto a memory of an old radio her brother had purchased from a travelling caravan. The passengers were hoping to reach Tal’Dorei, a country notable for taking refugees from the northern city states. 

 

If Caleb did perfect the formula, and if he also found a way to change her, they’d still need to flee from Tversky. Caleb couldn’t publish the formula and stay where he was. He’d have to run too. 

 

Nott twisted the wire around her wrist into a bracelet, “I’ll start with this. Now what ?”

 

“We start chiseling away at a, hm, it’s odd the word for it doesn't translate well. It's a practiced part of you more or less. You’ll become attuned to it that you won’t need to write it down on scroll or in a spell book. You could go years without practicing magic and it wouldn’t leave you. It’s the barest hint of your magic that is always there.”

 

“It’s not the body, though.” With her new form came _some_ perks. They were wrong perks and the body itself was wrong, but she’d made use of seeing in the dark as best she could alongside scaling walls and darting about. “Even if Tversky hadn’t changed me then I would still be magic ?”

 

Caleb rubbed the back of his neck and bit his lip, “Yes, I think so. I believe so.”

 

\----------------------------------

 

He didn’t know. There was much he couldn’t predict. 

 

Nott had fallen asleep at his side again, he’d offered her the couch again but she wouldn’t take it. She was nuzzled close with his torso as her pillow, and before he hadn’t thought much of that. 

 

Now, the new context of her life and her marriage made things awkward for him. He turned over the page of one of Yeza’s letters, marveling at the alchemical equations. The potential of a full renewal of magic into the world, free and available to everyone-- an enhancer. It was dangerous, and much of the looping lines--mathematical mixed with terms and free formed cursive that was familiar to Nott’s husband--also filled him with dread. 

 

Would the people who invented phones and cars be okay with this ? The military would love it for certain and so would aristocrats and criminals. Nott wanted the formula protected under the assumption that Tversky would leave them be, maybe change her back too. 

 

Caleb didn’t trust as easily, and stared at the ceiling throughout the night tossing his options back and forth. When the bare fingers of morning light poked through he nudged Nott awake and asked her if she’d like to learn some basic somatic gestures for spells, understanding if she didn’t want to. 

 

She’d agreed, only after some food. Her quick hands, which had been good for picking pockets, were nimble. She still used two hands, frustrated when Caleb explained that eventually she’d need to master only one handed quick casting, but he noticed her running her hands subconsciously through the motions later that evening. 

 

Then came verbal training, she struggled more with that. Nott mumbled through the words, explaining to him that she hated how loud it had to be. They compromised and settled on annunciation over volume. 

 

She cursed when nothing happened, no instant reaction, and them angrily turned to him to ask what this had to do with helping her husband. 

 

Caleb’s own mother and father- No, _Bren’s_ mother and father always been encouraging in his studies, there flinches came second to pleasing the empire and making sure their son was happy. 

 

Caleb took Nott’s hands in his, and continued guiding her. At night he poured over books on transmutation. He hadn’t practiced reading elven dialects in years and at times grew frustrated when he ran into a wall, but he’d look at Nott curled on his forlorn mattress and continue working. 

 

He tried not to wonder what Tversky had done to her, the details in between her transformation. She hadn’t bothered him too much on his time in the asylum, on the tests, and on how they’d tried to drain him of what little arcane was left in him. 

 

The glyphs tattooed onto his arms were carved there with elaborate ink brushes. A good mage might look at them and see traces of Ikithon’s specialized signature alongside manufactured work that had been detailed into him at the asylum. 

 

When these thoughts came Caleb would pick Nott up, hug her close and marvel at how quickly he’d come to love her. 

 

And then the snow started falling at a slower pace, and large machines began to clean the road with salt. 

 

“We knew this was going to happen,” Nott tapped her fingers on the windowsill. “Now you can be a normal teacher in the day, and when you come back in the afternoon you’ll be a secret criminal wizard with me.” 

 

“As long as I’m breathing outside of an asylum facility I’m a criminal.” 

 

“Don’t be so dramatic. You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.” Her optimism was refreshing for him. 

 

“Do you have something that can be done ?”

 

“Yes !” Nott kissed his knuckles, like a brave knight kissing a damsel’s hand in comfort. “How about that; a goblin’s blessing, but not really ?”

 

They both leapt as a loud trumpet horn came from across the hall, their neighbors were playing music again and louder than a speakeasy. 

 

“See ?” Nott squeezed his hand. “If this is the worst we have to deal with, then we’re fine. I bet that Ophelia lady forgot all about you.”

 

The next morning Nott handed him his jacket and case of papers. Her cleaning had rightened some of the hassle and stress of leaving for the morning. She pecked him on the cheek when he leaned down to tell her goodbye. 

 

She said something to him, and he joked back at her. They’d gotten through the weather and were still partners. Caleb had learned impossible and strange things about her past, but the protective feeling he had for had not faded. They were still family despite everything. 

 

When he’d been no more than five years old, his mother had become pregnant with another child. They’d thought a baby girl. The cold and lack of food had robbed them of that hope. Maybe that’s where his love for Nott came from. 

 

They would have loved her. They would have surely seen what he saw in her. 

 

He smiled to himself as he walked down the street, things were still quiet after the storm and there were few people around. 

 

He cut across a corner and stopped as a large car braked fifteen feet ahead of him. The vehicle wasn’t military, but it was industrial and adorned with chrome and a dark midnight blue. It’s engine was long and forward like the bow of a ship with tinted windows. On the hood of the car a mantle piece of a crying angel was affixed. Caleb’s throat went dry. 

 

 _Run_. 

 

He didn’t have the thought fast enough, never fast enough. He felt strong hands grab him from behind and a hood come over his face before he could scream. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big news ! I've started the outline for the next chapters and the ending for the work. I've had so much fun with this story and have been shocked and overjoyed by the response. This update was slower on account of the widojest piece I did last month. There might be another two month gap for the next chapter as I continue trying to finish my other stories that are in need of tweaking and an ending. 
> 
> I've started to go back and clean up earlier chapters as well. By the time I publish the last chapter (which may be a while from now) I will have probably fixed this story up to my liking. It will be worth a re-read in my opinion due to additions and fixes. 
> 
> I wanted to change some of Nott/Veth's backstory. We've heard of Dolan Tversky a few times in story and know he is a member of the Cerberus Assembly. It's hinted he might have been the one to suggest Yeza make the Dunamancy extraction potion. Similarly to how I changed bits of Caleb's backstory (keeping the core trauma and mesage) I tried to do the same for Nott.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi chapter I'll be trying to post in between updates of my other works. Other characters will make appearances, but the perspectives will solely be Nott's and Caleb's.
> 
> Also, I am not versed in German. I'm doing most of the translation work myself using google translate and a German dictionary I found. If anyone *does* speak German and wishes to help/call me out on a weird sentence, please do so.


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